


Limping Along Together

by floof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universes, Background AU!Cas/AU!Gabriel, Background Charlie/Alicia, Background Magda/Claire, Background Relationships, Background Rowena/Gabriel, M/M, Main Sam and Dean are dead dead dead, Trans Male Character, car crashes, internalized ableism, main canon major character death, transgender sam winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 69,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26461981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floof/pseuds/floof
Summary: Tossing aside the ending of season 13 and making it a little darker, Sam and Dean have died, although Gabriel managed to survive. Leaving Castiel worried about the Empty coming for Jack, he seeks safety for them both in another reality. Despite having to say goodbye to all he knows, with the Winchester Brothers dead, it feels as though he already has.Meanwhile, the Sam of that reality has long been retired from the hunting life. He still has visions, and receives a rather violent one of Castiel and Jack arriving in his world. Can he find them before danger does?Basically, I took what I liked from season 14-15 and tossed out the rest. Also, there are so many cats, as well as a few dogs.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 46
Collections: Sastiel Big Bang 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Star for the beta-ing, Finniigan for the wonderful art, and the Sasbb mods for all they've done for me.
> 
> Also, check out Finn's art masterpost here: https://finniigan.tumblr.com/post/629402460086304768/im-excited-to-finally-share-my-art-for-floofs

_“Sammy... how could you...”_

Blood, brother blood all over the seat of the Impala, the dash and the door; dripping out of Dean bit by bit. His lips stained red and his eyes hollow as he accuses Sam of the worst crime either of them can commit, like Same hasn't given up on family in the past. Like this is a surprise to Dean.

Sam looks straight ahead. He won't apologize, he won't.

_“Shouldn't... shouldn't have left him, Sammy... Sammy please...”_

Sam won't look at Dean, can't look at Dean. Hospital, they need a hospital, before he loses Dean too. He catches sight of Dean in the rearview mirror anyway. It's hard to say which of them looks deader; Dean with the light fading from his eyes, or Sam with the horror of what he's done, what he had to do.

Dean opens his mouth to speak once more, when Sam jolts out of bed. The scene fades, he's not in the Impala, hasn't been in years. He's in his bed, the covers tangling around him, like a tomb. Sweat soaks through his sheets, and a headache pounds against his temples.

Sam takes a deep breath, holds it, counts to ten. Releases it, counting to ten again as he catalogues his body. Ten fingers, ten toes, all sore, aching joints, but he’s not back there. He's not that kid anymore, hasn't been in a long time. When he gets up, and he's going to, he'll go to the mirror, and see a man in his thirties looking back at him, with streaks of grey in his long hair.

Not a bright eyed, chubby cheeked kid in his early twenties. It isn't 2006, it's not, no matter how real the dream felt. It's 2018, **it's 2018** , he just has to keep telling himself that.

With a long, shuddering breath, Sam frees himself from his bedding. He strips the bed in record time, and tosses it in the closet, ignoring the ache behind his eyelids. It's not hard – he's always in pain, despite the years and years of recovery. What's one more hurt to push back?

He has to make the bed before dawn, has to keep from worrying her. His – he wants to call her his daughter, for all he doesn't know if he has the right. She calls him Sam mostly, and it's a step up from being addressed as Mister Winchester, like she feared he'd send her away, send her back.

Like Sam ever could, ever would.

She's had a hard enough life, only gaining peace in these past four years with him. She doesn't need to be worrying about her guardian, she doesn't need to be worrying about anything.

Military corners set, Sam shakes his head when he notices. His father has been gone practically a lifetime now, and his influence is still everywhere in Sam's life. He doesn't know whether to sigh or punch something.

He settles on heading to the kitchen. Problem ignored, like so many in his life. The dream wasn't a warning, wasn't a vision. It was just a twisted up memory, his mind tormenting him once more. Classic PTSD, but Sam's got a kid. He can't deal with all that, not now.

She comes first.

Soft fur presses against his shin, a warm body winding around his ankles as a loud, loud purr fills the hallway. Sam chuckles as he leans down and takes Belle into his arms. It's dark out, too dark for human eyes, but cats have good vision, so he settles the white furred feline in his left arm and signs a quick thanks with his right.

Belle blinks her blue eyes back at him, the only color in the dark of morning.

“We'll just keep this between us, 'kay girl?” Whisper quiet, Sam's not sure why he's speaking when he knows she can't hear him, he sets her down on the counter and rushes to fill the cat bowls before they make a fuss and wake Magda.

The clock reads 5 AM as a soft, twilight dawn fills the kitchen. For once the cats are obliging in their morning routine, Belle jumping down soft from his shoulders and burying her face in her food bowl. Crow isn't far off, hopping up to nip at Sam's wrist as he fills the second bowl, but at least he keeps his meows to a minimum.

Sam pauses as he fills the last bowl, and looks out at the hall. A pair of suspicious yellow eyes glare at him from the floor. With a sigh, Sam sets the bowl down on the counter and walks away. It's only when he reaches the fridge that a battle scarred mangy tabby creeps into the room to dine on kibble.

“I'm the one who feeds you, you know. You could be a little grateful.” Sam doesn't make the mistake of looking at Elijah as he eats, not wanting to scare the cautious cat under the furniture for the next few days.

Magda was beside herself with worry last time that happened. The two of them have a truce where it comes to her: Elijah only loves one person, and Sam can't argue with his choice of humans. Still, it's his house, damn it.

He doesn't even **like** cats.

Crow leaps from the counter onto Sam's shoulder, drool dripping down from his snaggle tooth as he presses his face against Sam's, purring up a storm. Sam sighs and resigns himself to the struggle of keeping various bits of black fur and saliva out of the omelettes.

At least Belle is polite enough to stay out of Sam’s way while he’s cooking. Though it's clear she wants some of the eggs as she sits on the counter and watches him work.

“Tough luck, kitty cat.” Sam sticks out his tongue at her.

“Uh... Dad?”

Heart skipping a beat, whether from surprise or the title, Sam can't say. He turns sheepishly towards the door, whisk in hand as he continues breakfast prep.

“Sorry. I-I didn't mean to wake you up.”

“You didn't. Couldn't sleep much. Nightmares.” Magda's sleep rustled, her hair fraying from her face as she rubs at her eyes and yawns. She takes a place at the table and lays her head flat against her arms, the very picture of a teenager.

Sam holds back a chuckle. He wonders, did Dean find him this cute when he was a teen? Or was he more annoyed by Sam's whining? He'll have to ask him later. It's around time for Dean to check in, anyway.

Magda lets out a long, annoyed moan filled with the essence of someone who isn’t looking forward to school later that day. Not that Sam can relate. He always loved school, and finds himself missing it even now, decades later.

When Magda makes another annoyed sound, Sam adds a tally in the annoyed column himself. Dean might’ve been, when he was practically raising Sam, but he can't bring himself to be too upset. Magda's finally acting like a normal girl. It's all he's ever wanted for her.

So he settles back into his morning routine, adding fresh chopped vegetables to the mix no matter how much Magda would rather he make pancakes. That's a Sunday treat, and she knows it.

~

A few hours later and Sam finds himself looking out the window as Magda climbs into the school bus. His heart catches in his throat, and Sam has to repeat his daily mantra. She'll be fine. She **will** be fine. She's wearing an assortment of protective charms, and she has every number she could ever need saved to her phone.

Even if something happens to him, she knows to call Dean, Bobby, Ellen, or Charlie. She'll be fine. She **will** be fine.

The panic attack builds and builds as the bus fades from view. Two plaintive meows rise from below, and Sam glances down. Crow and Belle blink up at him, Belle's pair of blue eyes curious while Crow's one green eye seems more worried.

The absurdity of assigning emotions to his cats brings Sam back to earth. Letting out a long, long sigh, he pulls away from the window, steps shaky and weak as he makes his way to the living room. He falls more than sits down on the couch, his long limbs stretching against the soft fabric.

He needs to do his stretches soon. He's let himself lapse, and he knows what pain awaits if he doesn't. But he's so tired.

It’s Pathetic. The great Sam Winchester, still broken after all these years.

No. He shakes his head, pushes that talk down. He's not broken. He might not be able to run a marathon, or back Dean up in a fight like Dad raised him to do, but he has use. He takes care of Magda, and three mooches in fur coats.

Except…

She won't need him soon. She's going to finish her junior year of High School by month's end, she's just turned eighteen, and Sam's going to bring up college during the summer months. It's a good thing. She has a normal life, and will have a normal future.

Everything he didn't. It's good, it's what he's always wanted to give her, so why does he feel so lost just thinking about the future? Damn nightmares always ruin his day. It’s gotta be that, right? Right.

He lays and dozes as the morning passes him by. It's not a true sleep, but it's restful enough. Two small, warm bodies settle against his stomach, feeling like they weigh triple what they should. He's still in his pajamas when the phone rings.

Sam's limbs ache as he scrambles to find his cell, Crow taking off to the kitchen as fast as his three legs can carry him. Belle sleeps peacefully on. He's so pathetic. He has to get up, he has to. What if it's the school? What if Magda needs him?

The thought is enough to will strength to Sam's tormented bones, and he hobbles up the stairs as the phone gives one final ring. He starts to curse when it begins to ring again. It must be Dean, then. Only Dean has that little patience for Sam's busted body as Sam himself. Maybe a little less.

It's not a number he recognizes, but Sam presses the answer button and brings it to his ear nonetheless.

“Hey, Dean. Broke your phone again?”

“Took you long enough to answer.” Dean's voice is tinny and far away, but clear enough Sam doesn't bother complaining. “And how's my favorite crazy cat lady?”

“I only have three cats, Dean. And one of them is Magda's, you know that.” Sam rolls his eyes for all Dean can't see. “Also, I object to being a cat _lady_. I'm a dude and you know it.”

“And you know I didn't mean it like that, Bitch.”

“Whatever, still rude, Jerk.”

“You know you love me.” A few barks echo loudly over the connection, followed by Dean cursing, and Sam snickers.

“And you think _I_ have too many animals.”

“Hey, The Colonel and Slater aren't pets. They're hunting partners and you know it.”

“Yeah, I'm sure. What's got Slater so excited this time?”

“A squirrel. Shut up.”

“Didn't say anything.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Sam lets his brother's voice lull him into a sense of peace, or as close as he can get these days. They talk about little things; Dean's last hunt – a Ghost down in Texas of all things. Sam teases him for it. He makes sure to inquire about his dogs – excuse him, Dean's _hunting partners_ health so Dean knows he isn't serious.

They trade barbs back and forth, and Sam lets himself just be. No pain, no ache which will never go away, only able to be managed at best. No worries or fears, Magda's safe at school and Dean's talking to him right now – Sam's family is all accounted for.

So of course the universe decides to fuck him over.

It happens fast, a shock of pain over his eyes, spiking into his temple and cascading down his throat. Sam knows he must have screamed, because he faintly hears Dean calling his name, louder and louder as Sam falls into the vision.

It's particularly bad to come to him during the daytime. Usually the universe is kind enough to interrupt his sleep, as if it knows he only has nightmares anyway.

Red eyes hover above three talking figures. Sam can't make out what they're saying, but two of them seem depressed, while the other is resigned. One's fairly short, with swept back blond hair, wearing a leather jacket.

The other is a tall man, not as tall as Sam, in an absurd trench coat thrown haphazardly over a suit. The final figure is a young man, or a teen, Sam can't quite tell. He feels young, either way. His blond hair falls into his eyes, and he looks down, down, like there's no reason to live.

None of them can see the red eyes which watch them intently.

_“Sam? Sammy – come on man I'm days away don't do this to me!”_

Sam tries, he really does, but he only catches a few words here and there.

“Are you sure?”

“Ye-” Trench coat’s gesturing wildly, almost shouting, Sam wishes oh he wishes he could make out what he's saying - “Empty – can't ge- can't le- Jack-”

“I can't – do thi-” Shorty seems exasperated, he's getting up in a trench coat's space. “Need y- can't – not alon-”

“Please. I don't want to be here anymore.” The only clear sentence, from the boy – it is a boy, for all he looks grown, or almost, he's so young sounding, so alone.

The smaller blond sighs then, and nods. The scene changes, and laughter echoes through Sam's mind. It chills him, how familiar it is. The voice he's heard off and on his whole life.

_“Sam!_

That fucking laugh, that fucking voice – it doesn't matter what form it takes. Sam knows him. All the different voices, sometimes male, sometimes female. Appearing as Jessica, Dean, Bobby – his dad, one memorable time, as blood poured from his lips and gaping wounds – even taking people Sam doesn't know. Always calling his name.

The scene shifts and the eyes are back, watching as a... rift, golden in color, a tear in reality opens up. Sam knows this place – the field looks familiar. There's a flash of memory, of laying on the hood of the Impala, brother beside him with stars overhead.

The trench coat wearing man steps through the rift, his hand gripping tight to the boys. The rift closes behind them, and those red eyes crinkle in mirth. Can't they see they're being watched? Can't they see they're in danger?

“We'll be safe here. Rowena promised this universe is apocalypse free.” Trench coat’s got his arm around the boy, he's patting his – Jacks? back like the gesture is alien to him. It's clear to Sam that trench coat only half believes the words he's saying.

The boy only snorts.

Those eyes, those red, red eyes, they shrink down, settling into a ghostly form, long limbs reach for the two, there's that awful, awful laughter again, and – and -

_“SAMMY!”_

The field fades, as do the two figures, ever oblivious to the approaching danger. Pain spikes in Sam's skull, a chisel tap tapping away into his brain. His ceilings above, painted white with water spots he's yet to fix. A single green eye peers down at him as a black furred paw pats at Sam's cheek.

Drool drips down from Crow’s snaggletooth, landing on Sam’s chin. Lovely. As if the pain wasn’t enough.

“Sam I swear to god if you don't answer right now I'm calling 911-” Dean's voice, from far away, and Sam turns his head to see he's dropped the phone on the floor in his fit.

With a groan, he reaches out, misses it at first, but pulls it close on the second go. Everything hurts, everything has that raw, scraped out feeling he always gets when he gets warning of something bad, something so terrible he **has** to stop it or the consequences will be worse than a little nausea and a migraine.

“Hey, Dean...” His voice is weak to his own ears, drawn out, and he knows Dean won't leave him alone no matter what he says. So he settles for the truth. “Sorry. Got a vision, fell on the floor... 'm alright, all things considered.”

“What while you were awake? Sammy- that's, that's real bad man.” Dean sounds relieved for all of a second before his voice turns hard. “Was it a hunt? Where do I need to go, Sammy? And I'm calling Charlie to check up on you.”

Sam sighs but doesn't argue. He'll probably end up needing her help before this is over, anyway. Dean rants on some more, and Sam half listens as a plan begins to form behind his tired eyes. He doesn't remember closing them, but he must have.

That field... what state was it in again? Somewhere with a lot of corn, Iowa? Illinois, Nebraska? Somewhere in the Midwest, he knows that much. Definitely in America, thank god. But it's been years. And was it a vision of the future, or has it already happened?

How much time does Sam have to help them? Does he even want to? He doesn't... he doesn't know them... but. Somehow, he feels like he **could** know them. Like he **should**. Like...

“Earth to Sam, hey Sam! You spacing out on me, little brother? Don’t make me sic Ellen on you. I will. That’s a promise.”

“Yeah, No Ellen - Charlie, Charlie’s fine. Webcam hacking – she'll tell you I'm lying on my bedroom floor with a cat on my chest trying to give me a tonsillectomy. I'll be fine with some ice... maybe some aspirin...” His liver's used to the abuse.

“Well, damn Sammy. I knew you were into some kinky shit but I thought bestiality was a line we don't cross.”

“Shut up...” Sam struggles, groans and grunts, and he hears Dean asking him if he's okay multiple times before he's able to pull himself on the bed. It's even longer before he's able to stop panting in pain. “How far away did you say you were again?”

“Couple days but I can make it in two. Just need a shot of Red Bull with a little 5-Hour Energy chaser. Maybe some gas station coffee, you know what I say, live dangerously, die young. Leave a rockin’ sexy corpse. ...Sam, man, you know I hate this cryptic bullshit. Out with it. What'd you see?”

“It was.. it was so bad, Dean. I – I think I need to take this one.” Sam flops back on the bed, pulling an arm over his aching eyes as he struggles not to alarm his brother further. Dean's and his imagination’s already done enough. “I... I saw two men, and I – they were from another world, Dean.”

“Ooookay. Sam, did you mix up your pain meds again? Watch a little too much scifi before bed?”

“Dean. I don't know how to explain it, I just – I just know what I saw, what I felt.”

“Well, yeah, but-” Dean's dealt with his visions for over a decade at this point, he knows the jist of them, and Sam doesn't want to hear it again, for all he knows he's about to. “You know you don't always see like, 100% what's gonna happen or happened. We should call Missouri in on this.”

“She disappeared for a reason Dean. Probably wanted out of the life...” Sam wishes he could, to, at times. But he knows as long as his brother lives he'll be one foot in, one foot out. Not that he wants the alternative. God, no. Dean can joke about sexy corpses all he wants but Sam never wants to see that. Never, ever. “Just.. just get here, quick as you can. Please. I need you to stay with Magda and the cats while I go find them.”

“Uh huh. Yeah, I'm going to let you go run off after some 'otherworlders' all by yourself. Fat chance, Sammy.”

“We'll talk about it when you get here. Hurry, Dean. I don't think there's much time.” Hitting end call, Sam sighs as he tries to gather his wits.

Dean’s two days out. Probably more like a day and a half, if he knows his brother. That means he's got the rest of today, and a little bit of tomorrow to rest and prepare for a long, long drive. As well as figure out where he's supposed to go.

If Sam ever meets who or whatever gives him these visions, he is going to have **words** about the importance of clarity. Is a map too much to ask for?

God, okay, he's going to be useless for a little while. No way he can move until the world stops spinning. But he can plan.

Dean will want to come with him, but he knows how important Magda is to Sam – and after the last couple of years, she's family to Dean, too. If Sam's gone by midday tomorrow, he won't leave her alone. So that's taken care of.

He'll just have to hope he remembers where the field is by tomorrow morning, and take off after Magda's at school. She's 17, and Dad left Sam alone by age 9, but Sam won't – can't – do that to her.

Sometimes he wonders if parenting is just trying to keep from making the mistakes his Dad did, while avoiding new ones. He knows he isn't always successful on either front. But God he tries.

Weariness settles over him as two small, warm bodies settle on either side of his chest. A third cautiously makes their way onto his lap. Opening his eyes, Sam squints down at Elijah.

“Okay, I must be bad off if you're trying to comfort me...” Sam sighs. Maybe Dean's right, and he is becoming a crazy cat **dude**. “You guys understand, right? I've gotta... I've gotta warn them...”

Laughter echoes overhead, and Sam closes his eyes. It's been awhile, and he shouldn't be surprised, he really shouldn't, especially after last night and the vision. But somehow the return of a semi-frequent hallucination still jars his fragile heart.

Why can't he just have visions, why does he have to have some mild form of psychological … **impairment** , on top of his various mental illnesses? Must his mind be as broken as his body?

Whatever. If he ignores it, it'll get bored and go away.

“Saaaaammmy...” A greasy voice calls from above him, and he can hear three tiny growls from the cats, can feel Elijah's claws digging into his hips.

Part of Sam questions how the cats can react, if – if this isn't real, if **it** isn't real on some level.

“Shut up, Satan. I don't have time for you today.”


	2. Chapter 2

The bunker has never been Castiel's home. It can't compare to the Host, to the beauty of all his brothers and sisters singing together; to the joy of knowing that no matter what, he belongs. 

But over the years, it has come to mean something similar. The posters hanging on the walls, the books spread out across tables. The coffee mugs half finished, and the plates in the sink, ready for someone else to wash them. The echoes of laughter, and good natured arguing.

Family. Not the one he was born into, no, but family nonetheless. Family that argues, hurts each other, but loves so deep and so intense that it’s enough to change the world.

Now, the bunker is hardly quiet. Refugees from Apocalypse World have it filled... not to capacity, not even close; but it's not silent.

Castiel's not sure if it's better or worse this way. The Bunker should be filled with humans, and human voices; should be occupied. Sam and Dean would be happy it always will be. This knowledge won't be lost, won't be forgotten. 

Things should be peaceful, with Lucifer finally dead, and Alternate Michael joining him in the deep sleep of the Empty. But Castiel knows better. The world will always be troubled, always have monsters.

But he can't bring himself to be happy. Not with two men he called brother burnt to ash just nights ago. It's what they would've wanted; more than. Burned together, with friends and family saying their goodbyes.

Castiel wants to believe it's best this way. With the two of them gone, together, neither is left behind to suffer alone. Neither is left to turn to a deal of some kind to get the other back, and damn the consequences.

The thing about love that changes the world, is it’s not often for the better… and…

And they left him behind. Castiel's always known he's the odd man out, and he can't say he wants to go back, back to the Empty and it's endless, dreamless sleep.

But they left him behind.

He can't give into grief, either. Jack needs him, newly human Jack who barely speaks and eats even less.

“You're sure I can't convince you otherwise?” Mary's speaking up, from her place at the table, books spread around her. She's no Sam, for all he came from her, but she's trying. For him, for them. 

Castiel can't muster up enough gratitude to thank her. He can only nod.

“It's just...” Mary sighs. “I don't want to lose any more of my boys...” She brings her hand to her face, and settles it over tired eyes. Her fingers tangle in her blonde locks, and Castiel feels a moment of pity, of kinship. 

He won't voice it, it's too cruel, and he's sure she realizes. They're now echoes of what her boys, her family grew up with: being the ones left behind. But...

“I don't sleep... I don't dream. For me, that is... death. The Empty confirmed it... and yet, shortly after.. shortly after I killed Dean, after we gave them a Hunter's funeral, I... I slept for a day...” Castiel shudders, remembering. He looks down at his hands, and for a moment he sees them covered in blood, in Dean's blood, for all Dean made him promise to – and Castiel kept it, no matter how painful, because it was the last thing he could do for Dean.

For his best friend, and Castiel's lost so many friends over the years… Often by his own hand. That doesn’t make this loss any easier.

“He wanted you to, Cas.” Mary takes ahold of his hands, now, so much smaller than his own. Or Jimmy's, really, and now guilt is filling him over that too, can he do nothing right? Can he do nothing but bring pain to the humans he's sworn to protect? “I don't blame you, and neither would he.”

“I blame me.”

“...So, tell me about this dream of yours again?” She changes the subject with little grace, and Castiel’s too tired to care.

“I... I was being pulled down, deep down – you can't imagine it, Mary. Endless... nothing, all around, above and below. The Empty – it became me for a moment, then changed into Dean, then Sam, then... Balthazar, Hannah, even Meg once... anyone I considered a friend, then failed...”

Castiel's breath hitches as Mary squeezes his hands, softly encourages him to go on. He closes his eyes for all he doesn't need to. He'll never forget it, no matter how much he wishes so.

“It felt... it felt it, two archangels dying, one not even from this universe...” Yes, Castiel well remembers it's chastisement over that, over playing in alternate realities. Bad enough Castiel woke it, now he was bringing it even more work when all it wanted to do was sleep. “But worst of all... it felt Jack's grace, stolen from him, dying with Lucifer and... Mary, it wants him. He's human now, will be for centuries yet – his grace will replenish, I'm sure of it... but he's not safe here.”

He looks up at her, eyes wide and blue.

“And I don't know what to do, how to protect him.”

“Don't worry Cas. That's what family is for.” Mary lets go of his hands, and settles back in her chair. Castiel recognizes the look on her face, and has to fight back a smile. Good old Winchester diversion. 

She doesn't want to – can't deal with her own sorrow. So she's going to focus on someone else. Fix what she can. Castiel gives her a nod, and pulls a book close.

The bunker has never been Castiel's home. Now, with the near strangers milling about, keeping it alive; he doesn't know what to make of it. Humans, and he should love them – does love them, on some level.

But there's no Dean singing off key to a rock song as he burns eggs. There's no Sam rolling his eyes as he sips at his coffee, pretending like he isn't tapping out the beat with his fingers. Even Jack has headed to his room and refused to leave ever since the funeral.

Mary is here. Mary has only been part of their team for the past two years, one of which was spent in Apocalypse World. But she's a Winchester, the last Winchester alive. And she's always been around in spirit, in Dean's smile and Sam's eyes.

Castiel will take all the help he can get.

~

No one likes the plan. No one likes the plan at all. Least of all himself. But it's all they have, and hope's so hard to cling to, lately.

“Well... I guess I do owe you. Saved my life twice now, here and that kooky end times place..” Gabriel speaks up, holding a small vial of grace. It's been a month since he last attempted to give them a 'serving', so it's more than before. But still so small. “But Cas, this plan of yours-”

“It's not just his plan.” Rowena waves her hand from the side of the room, bowl and herbs at the ready. “I had something to do with it, I'll have you know.”

“And you're expecting me to thank you?” Gabriel raises a single, solitary brow high on his vessel's face. He follows it up with a truly impressive eye roll. “'Cause doll, gotta tell you-”

“Oh please.” Rowena stepples her hands together. “I am not your doll, what we had was a moment of desperation.” She lets her eyes roam up and down his form, shuddering a little. Though she does bite her lip for a considerable amount of time, and her gaze lingers on Gabriel’s nether regions for a long time. “Great desperation, at that.”

“You know you still want me-” Gabriel starts, when Mary sighs.

“Okay you two. That's enough... I can't even call that flirting. That's enough-” Mary makes a vague gesture “Whatever. Castiel and Jack need to leave, the sooner the better.” She turns back to them, eyes sad but understanding.

Castiel meets her gaze and nods. He's wearing his familiar coat, and has a bag slung over one shoulder. He's an angel still, even with his tattered wings and miniscule amount of grace. But he's found himself becoming more sentimental over the years, and...

Aside from the necessities – money, actual physical notes in various currencies – as well as a few books which should still hold true no matter the universe... Dean's jacket is wrapped tight around the bills, keeping them safe. Sam's flannel joins it.

It's all he has left of them, and Castiel has been too much of a coward to check Heaven and see if it's all he'll ever have left of them. He doesn't know if it'd be better or worse if Billy kept her promise of chucking them into the Empty – The Winchesters deserve Heaven. 

That much is always going to be true. But does Heaven deserve the Winchesters? Will they be happy there? Or would they prefer to sleep forever, back to back, with no chance of ever being roused from their well deserved slumber?

He can't bring himself to ask Gabriel, either. At least Heaven's being left in good hands. Or at least, capable hands.

“Still think this plan is dumb. No guarantee the next universe you hop into will be any better, you know?” Gabriel's concern is... odd, but not unwelcome. “I know Rowena says she's got a scry spell and all-”

“You didn't seem to doubt my talents last time-” Rowena huffs. 

“Doll, I'm just saying-”

“It doesn't matter if it is. I don't... I don't want to be here anymore. I only hurt people... I need to leave.” Jack doesn't look up the entirety of the time he speaks. His hands are gripping the straps of his own backpack. The whitening of his fingers is the only sign of his stress. 

Mary wraps her arms around him before Castiel can move, and he watches, lost as they hug and she whispers something into the boy's ear. He wishes he was the one to offer comfort, to be able to help. But he only had a few days with Jack, for all he'd sworn to protect him.

Then Jack was off trying to right wrongs, such a good boy, always. But after… well, ever since they've been back... Jack's buried himself in his grief, loss over his sense of self as much as their family.

“You're sure I can't come with you?” Mary asks, for what must be the hundredth time.

“I... No.” Castiel shakes his head. He doesn't want to leave her behind, doesn't want to lose his last tie to Sam and Dean, but... “It would be selfish to take you from them. The – the refugees, they need you, and...”

He thinks she needs them, too. Needs some reason to keep living, now that she's the only one left. She nods, for all he remains silent, thoughts lost to time.

“Alright.” Mary sniffs, and surprises Castiel by hugging him, too. Tightly, her arms shaking around him. 

All he can do is lift one of his own, and pat awkwardly at her back. He's never been the best at physical affection, even less so when it's thrust upon him. He wishes he could do more, leans in to hug tighter, when she pulls away with another sniffle.

But she doesn't cry. Only smiles at them, though everyone can see it doesn't reach her eyes.

“Alright!” Mary says again. “Don't worry about this universe, Cas, Jack. We'll take care of it.”

“Heaven's all set, too. I've got some plans.” Gabriel rubs his hands together. “Oh I've got plans...”

Castiel gives him a concerned look at that, but before he can say anything, Rowena speaks up.

“Everything's quiet on the demon front. Witches, too. With The Book of The Damned on my side, no one's going to cross me.” Rowena rubs at her eyes, and Castiel finds himself taken aback that she actually looks upset over their departure. 

Then again, Sam came to trust her at the end. She was the one who kept the portal open as well, long enough that they all managed to escape. No one could've predicted the tragedy that followed. Not even her.

Castiel can't forgive her for the attack dog spell, not yet. But he finds himself trusting that she'll take care of their home. If only for her own self interest.

“And I've written down a copy of the spell, so that when... Junior here-” She nods at Jack. “Is back to full power, you should be able to get home. Maybe we can deal with the Empty then... I'll still be alive, if no one else is.”

“Goody goody gumdrops! I'm deffo popping in to check up on you from time to time then!” Gabriel grins, leaning close into her space.

“Oh, bollocks...” But Rowena smiles, just a little, after sighing.

Castiel's not sure what to make of their odd little dance. At first they did seem annoyed with the other, but now Rowena's turning as red as her hair. He cocks his head to the side, considering. In the end he supposes it doesn't matter.

With a deep breath and one last look around the bunker, he says goodbye to his sometimes home. He can't say goodbye to Sam and Dean, not anymore, but – he looks at Sam's favorite chair. At Dean's robe still slung haphazardly over the table. 

He nods.

“Jack? Are you ready?” Castiel reaches out, offers his hand. 

“As I'll ever be.” Jack's hand is cold in his own, and Castiel finds himself rubbing his fingers over the boys. It doesn't seem to help, so he stops.

Rowena nods herself, then, and begins chanting. The ingredients are tossed into the bowl, Gabriels grace following suit. The fabric of space and time crackles around them, until it's focused into a single rift, golden bright and torn open in front of them.

Castiel leads Jack into it. The world goes silent, then ever loud as they step between. Then peaceful once more, the sounds of night in the country. An owl hoots from somewhere to their left, frogs croak, and crickets chirp out their requests for a mate all around them.

The rift swirls, floating up one final time before it dissipates.

He doesn't know why he was watching it. There was no choice, no other option. Castiel had to get Jack away from the Empty, and it shouldn't be able to find them here. With their home universe finally peaceful, maybe it will be able to go back to sleep...

He hopes, but doesn't pray. 

“We'll be safe here. Rowena promised this universe is apocalypse free.” Castiel lets go of Jack's hand, so that he can wrap his arm around his back instead. He doesn't know why he thinks it'll do any good. Mary's hugs are better, but he still pats Jack's back like it will solve everything.

Jack snorts. Castiel doesn't sigh, no matter how much he wants to. The many, many books on parenting he read while helping Kelly prepare... they all spoke of how hard it is, to be a father. And he'd known it to be true.

Castiel only had to look at his failure with Claire. 

But somehow, Castiel had hoped it would be different with Jack...

Squeezing his shoulder, Castiel looks up at the night sky. Well, he knows one thing he has to do.

“Let's get you somewhere safe. Then I need to let Heaven know we're not here to fight...” He only hopes they'll hear him out. He'd prefer not to be on the run from not only the Empty, but Heaven too... no matter how familiar the latter is.

Castiel begins to walk, Jack following behind him. As much as they'd like to rest, there's work to do.

~

Settling Jack down for the night was easier said than done. But eventually, Castiel finds himself sitting on a bed, watching his charge as Jack shivers in his sleep. He wants to offer him a little grace, wants to send him into sweet dreams like he had so often done for their lost friends. 

Despite how Sam and Dean always shrugged the offer off, they knew it was always open.

Castiel sighs, thinking of them once more. Eventually, they'll be safe enough he can mourn. But not now, not when Jack could still be in danger. As much as he doesn't want to, he gets up from the bed, whisper quiet and begins to draw wards on the walls of the room.

Rowena had promised this world was safe, and despite their history Castiel trusts her. When she'd been told what – how Sam had... of the Winchester's deaths, she'd turned away, face in her hands. Castiel had been surprised to realize she was crying.

Sobbing, really. Castiel had stared in open envy. Unsure how to feel that his sometimes enemy, fickle friend as best, could find the relief he so longed so with such ease. 

She'd been scared of Jack at first, when Castiel approached her for help. But then, seeing his trembling lip and wet eyes, the two of them had talked of Sam for hours. While Castiel made himself scarce, yet close enough to help in an instant should Jack need.

Castiel likes to think he's learned over the years to meter his trust. Time will tell if he's been successful. Sooner, rather than later, as he finishes up the final ward and steps outside.

He'll be praying soon enough, but he'd like to pray first for Jack's safety should this not work. The boy has been on his own before, but he's always had immeasurable power backing him up. If Castiel doesn't come back, he has weapons, books, and money which thankfully still works in this universe – and his wits.

But no more guidance. Maybe it's selfish of Castiel to risk taking the boys final guardian from him, but he has to know. He has to.

Clasping his hands together, he opens his thoughts to angel radio and prays.

“Hello. My name is Castiel – I'm sure you sensed my arrival in this universe. I am not your Castiel, that is true, but I was a part of the Heavenly Host, once. I was a faithful warrior... and I ask that you please, please hear me out before you set upon me – I... mean you no harm.” Castiel bites his lip, considering. 

They don't know what Jack is, they can't. But...

“The boy means you no harm either. We just need a place to stay until-” How much to tell them? “Until we can return to our own universe. We won't cause trouble. All I ask is that you leave us alone.”

There, that was vague enough to say nothing but still let them know he was aware of them. Closing his thoughts, he opens his hands and sighs. He doesn't expect an answer, isn't sure he wants one either. So when he hears a rush of wings, followed by five figures appearing before him, he takes a step back and grapples for his angel blade.

“Be at peace.” One of the figures raises her hand. 

Castiel reaches out with his tattered grace, but he doesn't recognize her. He doesn't recognize any of them – can't hear them, either. Just bits and pieces, half words like he's out of tune. He supposes he is.

“We mean you no harm.” Another speaks, offering his hand. “Our Leader merely wishes an audience with you.”

The final three are glancing at him curiously, and Castiel bites back a pained cry when he feels alien grace brush against his own.

“So it seems Michael was right. You cannot fly, can you?” The first speaks again, and is promptly smacked on the back of the head by the second.

“Of course Michael was right!” He shakes his head, then rubs his fingers through his vessel's hair. “Now, please. Come with us.” He offers his hand once more.

“Will you return me – or is this an execution?” Or worse, are they – will they – Castiel shoves the thought back. “I have been remade many, many times. I think you'll find I'm not worth it, and I will fight you if you try.”

The laughter which comes from all five stings more than it should.

“You? You think we want you?”

“We already have a Castiel – and she's enough trouble as it is! What would we do with two of you? Ha ha!”

“I know Michael said this stranger is barely an Angel but I didn't think-”

“Alright,” Castiel cuts in, annoyance filling him. His tattered wings flare out in rage, and it's a struggle to keep them out of this realm of existence. “I get the point.”

Barely an angel? Humph.

“That being said – no, this is just an audience. Michael wants to know your plans, and no one refuses Michael.” The second angel, who seems to be their leader, offers his hand once more. “Now please, don't embarrass yourself further. You cannot get to Heaven without us. I swear upon my honor we will return you unharmed – if Michael so wishes it.”

It's all Castiel can hope for, really. So with a sigh, he takes the offered hand and lets himself be pulled to Heaven. And it is definitely a pull – the angel is not gentle as the world disappears around them and long, full feathered wings soar through the human plain of existence into where only angels and souls can go.

Energy swirls around them, and for a faint moment Castiel lets himself float. It's the closest he'll come to flying ever again. Then it's over before it really starts, the white halls of heaven surrounding them. Opening his mind once more, he tries not to be disappointed that all he can hear are faint echoes once more.

It seems he'll always be out of tune. It shouldn't hurt as much as it does.

The group marches him through the halls, keeping him at the center. They say nothing at Castiel's insistence on holding his angel blade. He tries not to let it bother him how they clearly don't see him as a threat.

All around are souls, in their separate heavens. Castiel can sense, can see their glows, their hopes and dreams at least. But the true forms of his brothers and sisters are just out of sight, just out of sync. Only the ones taking vessels are apparent to him.

Now and again, as they march, a curious head peers out at them. But Castiel can't place their names, no matter how hard he tries.

He's not sure he wants to, anyway. His family is dead and gone, all of them save for Jack. Another universes cannot replace them. He's not sure he'd want that, either.

They come to a stop in the throne room, and while God's chair is empty here as well, familiar vessels wait to the side of it. Raphael, in the form of a dark skinned woman with long, long braids swept back from her face.

She raises an eyebrow at him, as if he is a bit of dung on her shoe. Castiel forces himself to meet her gaze.

This isn't his Raphael. Maybe, just maybe, she has sense. There's been no apocalypse here – so she has to. He hopes. He doesn’t pray.

Beside her is an unfamiliar vessel, a girl who cannot be more than seven or eight – but the laughter in her eyes and the way she's sucking on a lollipop leads Castiel to believe this must be Gabriel. He finds himself wondering what it means that he never left in this universe.

Finally, there is Michael. His vessel seems to be deteriorating slightly, and it's been years since Castiel's seen him, but he's sure this is the same one he took before being locked in the cage back home.

“Adam Milligan?” Castiel blinks, unsure. “But he should be dead...”

“Oh, he is.” Michael speaks, arms behind him. “But I need a vessel to speak with you, and he accepted so long as I reunited him with his mother.”

“And did you?” Castiel's fingers tighten around his blade, remembering how easily Adam was duped during the apocalypse. He's not sure why he cares. Adam was never a friend of his, and Sam and Dean don't... didn't speak of him much.

Still. Adam is – was. A link to lost friends, and Castiel misses them so, so much. More than he can give words to. More than he can admit.

He pushes those thoughts back, Winchester style, to be dealt with later. Jack, he's here for Jack, he has to remember that. Greif can wait. It has to.

“Of course. He's with her now.” Michael gives a shrug of his shoulders. “I'm merely using his body. If you were well, perhaps I wouldn't need it.”

“Enough posturing, Mikey.” Gabriel speaks up, slurping on his lollipop all the while. “'M getting bored, anyway.”

“Apologies, dear brother.” Michael turns back to Castiel. “Well. Let's hear it. Why are you here, and why do you have a burnt out nephilim with you?”

“You... know what he is?” Castiel takes a step back, only to be met by the angel guard, who stop him from leaving the throne room. 

“Of course we do.” Raphael speaks now, tossing her braids over her shoulder haughtily. “The boy has faint remnants of our fallen brother's grace. But his soul is bright and clear, and the two of you stink of a damned alternate universe. Michael, Gabriel, why are we suffering these fools? Let's be rid of them, already.”

“Easy, dear sister. We suffer Nephilim to live so long as they stay out of our way.” Michael cocks his head to the side. “And you will stay out of our way, will you not?”

“I...” Castiel finds himself gulping. A wink from Gabriel doesn't help, and he struggles to make himself nod. “Of – of course. I... the Empty is, was awake in our universe, so we ran from it. I'm hoping that by the time Jack regains his grace, it will fall back asleep. And we'll leave your universe behind, unharmed, I swear.”

“See that you do.” Raphael crosses her fingers in front of her vessel, and stares down at him from behind hooded eyes. “I fear to even guess at what woke the empty in your world – but see that it doesn't happen here and you may be allowed to live, yet. We are here to protect humanity, and that includes from you, if you cause trouble.”

“You... it's surprising to hear you say that, of all people.” Castiel has to admit, as he shakes his head. “The Raphael from my world wanted nothing more than the end of days.”

“The apocalypse? Ah, I convinced them that was dumb.” Gabriel's chewing gum now, and he blows a bubble before popping it. “Daddy ain't coming home no matter what we do.”

“And we were charged with the protection of humanity.” Michael nods. “No matter how much our fallen brother writhes in his cage, he will not be set free. We've seen to that, time and time again.”

“You've... seen to that?” Castiel's not sure he wants to know what that means, but he finds himself stepping closer. “How – what have you done?”

“His plan, years in making. His special children. We destroyed them all, as we destroy any demon who steps above their station.” Raphael inspects her vessel’s nails as she speaks. “Which is most of them. Vile creatures.”

The special children... which means that Sam... Castiel brings a hand to his face, and closes his eyes. Why he's so upset he cannot say. Sam – his Sam, is already dead and gone. Why should he care about one he's never even met?

Except to learn he'll never know him, either. 

Nodding, Castiel forces his hand down. It's over and done with, has been for years past. He cannot save Sam, not here, not anywhere.

Sam, with his long hair, and the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way he always has a space for Castiel, despite everything he's done to him and his brother. Long nights, sitting beside Sam, each of them buried in books. Companionable silence which Castiel would give anything to get back.

Or. He would have given anything, if not for Jack… He’s so sorry, but Jack has to come first now. There’s no deal he can make. Sam’s gone, gone, but at least he’s not alone.

“I... see. If that is all, I need to get back to my charge.”

“And we have your word you will not cause trouble?” Michael arches a brow, and it looks so wrong on Adam Milligan's features. 

Despite that, Castiel nods.

“So long as you don't cause trouble for us.”

They seem to find this amusing, angels behind him laughing while Raphael holds a hand to her vessel's face, while Gabriel rolls on the floor hooting and hollering. As if they think him defenseless.

Castiel takes it in stride. Better for them to think that.

“Very well, then.” Michael nods. “Paschar, return him. I doubt we'll be seeing much of each other, Castiel, but take care.”

Castiel knows a dismissal when he sees one, and he doesn't fight as his guard marches him back through the halls. Part of him burns with bitter pride, offended they think so little of him. But an even larger part is grateful, weary of turning against Heaven.

He's back at the hotel before he knows it, wingbeats the only sign of the alien angels. And those are soon gone, leaving him with his thoughts.

Leaning against the door, he closes his eyes. He knows he needs to check on Jack soon, knows he needs to make a plan for their life in this universe. But he takes just a few minutes for himself to mourn.

Tears splatter against the concrete below as he thinks of Sam, and the way blood had pooled against his lips as life left him. So soon after saying goodbye to him the last time, with the vampires in the Apocalypse World...

It isn't fair. It... isn't fair. He wants to curse his father, but he wont. Castiel's so tired of risking divine wrath. It finds him easy enough on it's own.

~

They fall into an aimless pattern over the next week. Castiel lets Jack sleep as long as he wants wherever they stop for the night; be it hotel, motel, hostel, or out in the wildness, camping under the stars. He tries not to think of how much rest Jack is getting.

The books he read were mostly about early childhood, and Jack, while being a little over a year old, is more like a teenager physically. But Castiel knows mental illness when he sees it, and he cannot blame Jack for his depression.

In the quiet of the night, when the boy sleeps, Castiel finds himself giving in to his own melancholy. He's just not sure how to help him. He can't even help himself.

So they keep moving. To where, he doesn't know. They'll have to stop eventually; maybe Castiel can get a job at a gas station again, much as he isn't looking forward to it. As for Jack... well, that will depend on what the boy wants.

But not yet. None of the towns they've been in feel right. Castiel can't explain his wanderlust, if it even is that. The first town reminded him too much of Lebanon. The second, Sioux Falls. Jack hadn't cared either way.

He hasn't spoken much. Castiel knows he should make him, but... he can't.

Everything changes the beginning of their second week in this strange new world. Castiel's browsing a local paper while Jack lies flat on his stomach, looking just beyond the television. Some old cartoon is playing, and Castiel feels a pang as he imagines Dean explaining the plot, the genius of the colorful scene to him.

He's scanning for cases without thinking about it. Once he realizes he's found one, he sets the paper down and closes his eyes, a hand coming up to grip his brows, and soothe the headache he can feel building there. He chooses to ignore how deeply intertwined he’s become with his vessel, more than he has in the past. What pain he feels, what grace he has left, neither are important, because. Because.

Sam and Dean are gone, and he forgot. 

Castiel can feel Jack's eyes on him, and he knows he should say something. No words come. He takes unneeded breath after unneeded breath. He refuses to think about two bodies, bleeding out, laying side by side in death as in life. 

He refuses to.

There's something, just beyond his consciousness, getting louder and louder. A familiar voice, and Castiel's almost grateful for the distraction. He pulls his angel blade out and gets to his feet.

“Stay inside. I'll be right back.” 

“Right. Not like I can help anyway...” Jack's voice is muffled and mournful. When Castiel looks over, he can see the boy has buried his head under a pillow, one fist clutching the blankets tight.

He sighs, wanting to help, but he has to take care of this. It's not like anything he could say, any wisdom he could offer, could dull the pain they both feel.

Brothers lost, Fathers lost. Loss, loss, loss. It’s all consuming. How could he have forgotten, even for one small moment?

Castiel opens the door and steps outside. There's nothing, but the voice is getting closer. He finds himself growling under his breath. Heaven swore they'd leave them alone, and so far Castiel's kept up his end of the bargain.

He shouldn't be surprised Heaven isn't keeping theirs. Some things never change.

The voice seems to be leading him somewhere, and Castiel can sense a trap, but he goes nonetheless. Better to do this away from Jack. At least it's only one angel. Castiel might be weakened, a mere shadow of his old self, but he's passed through multiple apocalypses.

Perhaps not unscathed, but wiser. Stronger in sense, if not power. Still, he has to roll his eyes as he comes to a stop.

“An empty alley, really? Even I know that's a cliché.” Castiel leans against the brick wall, taps his fingers against his side in annoyance. “Well? I'm here. What do you want?”

The voice tries to speak to him, angel radio flickering in and out in his head. Castiel sighs, annoyance quickly turning to anger.

“I can't understand you. Something about this universe – or maybe it's just me. I don't know.” He shrugs, feeling foolish, but stops, as someone walks out from behind the dumpster.

It's a lithe, small form. Female, with blonde hair cut at the chin. She's wearing jeans, and a leather jacket, and – while she's different from his own, there's no mistaking her. 

“C-claire?!” No, wait - “Get out of her!” Castiel finds himself darting forward, angel blade drawn. He stops himself just in time. If he kills the angel, he'll kill the host, too – and.

It's not his Claire. He shouldn't even think of her as such, she's made it clear he's not needed, not wanted. She's right to feel so, he took everything from her – but. Castiel can't stop himself from caring either way.

It's still Claire. Someone he hurt deeply, when he was supposed to protect her. And he has never been able to fix that, never will be able to fix that. But asking himself not to care about her, even when it's not really her? 

Impossible.

The angel possessing Claire tilts her head to the side, face passive and cold.

“This upsets you?” The angel shakes Claire's head, “It shouldn't. The girl acquiesced long ago.”

“Long ago – how? How long have you taken her as your vessel?” Castiel feels his own vessel's heart seize and turn cold. He knows he's a hypocrite, but he can't bring himself to give a damn. It's **Claire**.

Maybe some of Jimmy's feelings mix with his own, despite his soul long being absent. Much like Hannah confused her vessel's feelings for her own. It doesn't matter, Castiel doesn't care. **It's Claire!**

The angel pauses a moment, head tilted to the side once more as she considers.

“At least twelve years, I suppose.”

“Twelve- she must have been...” Castiel thinks, and he finds himself shaking with rage. “A child. You took a child as your vessel.”

“I am sure you have done the same, in the past. We cannot be that different.”

He drops his angel blade, and takes several steps back, shaking his head. No. No. No!

“Hello, Castiel. I wanted to meet you. Or, I suppose. Myself.”

“What... what happened to Jimmy, here?”

“You must know as well as I do that Jimmy, while suitable, isn't as perfect for us as Claire.” 

Castiel can see himself in her now. In her mannerisms, and the coldness of her emotions. He wonders how many times this Castiel has been remade. Is it as often as himself?

No. Less, he's sure of it. This Castiel has never had the Winchesters to fight for.

“That doesn't answer my question.” Castiel leans down to pick up his blade. He's grateful for the respite from those cold blue eyes. He understands now. Why Dean took so long to trust him. 

It's like looking in a mirror, and oh how Castiel wants to shatter it. Damn the bad luck, it's all the luck he's ever had anyway. But he won't hurt Claire. He can't.

“I took Jimmy multiple times over his lifespan. But it came to an end after the last mission – he grew tired of it, and while I wanted to let him go, his mind could not handle the strain of what he'd done. It was kinder to take him to Heaven.”

“You... killed him?”

“I saved him. It was a reward he deserved, and earned.” His alternate self nods her vessel's head, and even that looks wrong on Claire’s face. Even worse she just… stares. Studying him with those cold blue eyes.

Castiel turns his blade in his palms, considering. It might be kinder to put himself... or rather, her and Claire out of their misery. He can see Claire's soul, diminished by years of servitude. It's so dim, buried deep under his alternate self's grace.

No. He won't. He can't.

“Why are you here?” He finally asks, looking at his reflection on his blade. “Is it just to torment me?”

“Curiosity, I suppose. Wouldn't you want to meet yourself?” 

Castiel snorts.

“No. I've met myself before – more than that, I know myself. I am not a good person. Every time I try to help, try to fix things, I make it worse. I'm a follower, not a leader, yet I still find myself leading more often than not... why would I want to see how badly I've screwed up, somewhere else?” He laughs, and the bitterness echoes in his ears. 

“You think I've screwed up?”

“I know you have. Tell me, what drove Jimmy mad?”

“Do you truly wish to know? You seem... upset.” She squints at him, like she isn't sure the name of that emotion. Castiel can't blame her. He remembers how it went – following orders, knowing they were just, because they came from above.

He hates himself for not questioning more. He hates her, too.

“Just tell me.”

“If you wish.” She shrugs Claire's shoulders, face impassive. It's wrong, unsuited to Claire's expressive face. Castiel knows her, she burns with anger, her emotions red hot and overflowing all the time. She's not... this porcelain doll, this soldier who will do anything so long as it is ordered. Without question or thought.

She speaks, and Castiel forces himself to listen.

“I first took James Novak as my vessel over three decades prior. I was tasked with taking out Azazel's future army. He fought me. I explained why the babes needed to be slain in their beds, reminded him of the slain first-borns in their cribs. He cursed me when I left... but still let me in, decades later when I needed to do it again.”

“You had a child kill children?” Even for himself, that's disgusting. Castiel shakes his head, one hand tangling in his hair.

“He consented.” She shrugs, as if that's all that mattered. “When I took him again... a demon wounded him, shortly after I left. The girl prayed, begged me to heal him, and I did try, but it was too late. ...And the demons had to be dealt with. With her father gone, she had no reason to object to serving me.”

“I thought you said you took him to Heaven!”

“I did. I personally gathered his soul in my hands and took him there.” She tilts her head to the side. “I could have healed him, but he would have been forever haunted had I done so. He served Heaven admirably. He deserved his reward.”

“But you promised Claire-” He knows himself, he does, and Castiel finds himself slamming her against the brick wall, blue eyes looking into blue eyes. “I know you must have promised to save him! She only said yes because of that, I'm sure of it!”

He knows because that's how he got her to give in to him, all those years ago. _Just let me in Claire_ , he'd said. _I'll save your father. I'll save your entire family._.

So it's no surprise what she says next.

“I did save him.” 

Castiel laughs. He'd believed that then, too. After all, Good Christians do call it salvation for a reason. Loyal, Obedient Angels do as well. It's only now, after all he's seen and done, that he knows it for the lie it is.

“Let her go.” He speaks, after some time spent in silence. “She's more than served. Please, let her go...”

“Why do you care?”

“Why **don't** you?”

They meet each other's eyes once more. Castiel wills his alternate self into understanding, into giving in.

“She's more than held up her end of the bargain. You know that to be true. Please. Let her go.”

“And then what? You know as well as I do that humans are affected by our possession. She's spent longer under my control than she has under her own power. Would you leave her, child in mind but adult in body?”

“Of course not! I... I'll take care of her.” It's the least he can do. She might not be his Claire, but she needs someone. Maybe not him, especially with the face he wears, and all he's done to her family. Or a version of her family. “And... if she won't accept my help, I'll find her help somewhere else...”

“Very well then. I wish you luck, Castiel.” Her mouth opens, and she leaves Claire behind – brilliant white grace leaving as she ascends to the heavens.

Castiel rushes forward to take Claire in his arms, his blade clattering, forgotten to the ground. She doesn't open her eyes, but Castiel can feel the tears on his jacket. 

“Oh, Claire...” He sighs, gathering her up in his embrace. “It's... it's alright. You don't have to say anything... and I know you have no reason to trust me, but...”

“I was aware...” Claire speaks, her voice small and rough. “Through all of it... every minute, every demon she made me kill... they were people, too... and my dad.... my mom...”

“I know... I know you have no reason to trust me... I'm not your father, but-”

“In ten minutes you've shown more care than Castiel has in over a decade.” Claire tucks her head against Castiel's shoulder, her hands weakly gripping at his coat. She shakes and shakes, she’s so weak, but never, ever lets go.

He doesn't know what to say. Is there anything he even can?

~

So now Castiel has two young adults under his care. Two humans, or close enough in Jack's case, who rarely speak and when they do, it's a toss up between apathetic sorrow and short lasting bitter rage. Castiel will take it. At least they're still alive to hate him.

Not that Claire or Jack do. Despite having more than enough reason to. Castiel's failed them both – Jack more personally, but he's wearing a version of Claire's father, and he knows that has to hurt. It's in the way she won't look at him dead on, only glance to his side when speaking to him.

She's alive. Jack's alive, too. That's all that matters.

He doesn't know where they'll settle, when he'll finally feel safe enough to stop running. He's managed to steal a car again, something nobody will miss. He's already started to lay a paper trail, gotten a few credit cards rolling once more.

They have enough money, for now, but he likes to have options. He's long past caring about less than legal means of survival.

Castiel leans back against a booth, and watches his charges eat their lunch. He sips at coffee himself, though he doesn't need it. He's found it makes the wait staff less nervous, less likely to remember him if he orders something.

Then again, with the amount Jack and Claire have ordered, they're certainly memorable. Castiel can't bring himself to tell them to be more discrete.

It's the happiest they've looked in the past few weeks they've been traveling together. And really, who cares if they're remembered? Rowena wasn't wrong, and Heaven -miraculously – hadn't lied. Castiel hasn't come across any signs of demons, and far, far less supernatural when he checks the news.

So he smiles into his coffee as Claire and Jack attempt to eat their weight in pancakes, french toast, and waffles. They won't be able to finish half of it, and they'll complain of aching stomachs one hour on the road.

But they're smiling. Teasing each other with little looks, if not words. It's an illusion of family. Just a hint, and Claire may yet leave, when her mind heals enough and she tires of Castiel playing house. If traveling on the road, staying in a different hotel every night even counts as that.

Until then he'll be there for her, for both of them. Maybe Jack will talk to her, since he'll only roll his eyes or gripe at Castiel.

Is this the terrible twos he's heard so much about? Does that even apply in Jack's situation? 

Castiel's so tired of running. The Empty can't catch them here. Not that Castiel would care if it came for him, so long as it left Jack alone. Yet, still, he can't make himself stop. 

It seems like it's all he knows to do anymore.

Eventually grief will catch up to him. He knows it. But for now... he sits, and watches the two humans he would call his children. If he was only allowed.

He cares for them, takes care of them. That's enough. It has to be.

There's no Dean to tell him what to do. No Sam to tell him everything will work out okay. To whisper sweet little lies Castiel desperately wants to believe in. There's only his own judgement, and despite it proving catastrophically bad in the past, he'll follow it.

He has no other choice. Jack and Claire have been failed enough. He won't let it happen again.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's phone rings. He's driving along a back country road, eyes straight ahead as he glances from left to right, searching for something – anything that looks familiar. It rings and rings, accusing from his pocket.

Finally it goes to voicemail. It's the default tone, so he doesn't worry about Magda needing him. She's the only one in his tiny list of contacts with a specialized ringtone. ...Unless Charlie's hacked his phone again... which he wouldn't put it past her.

Sam's phone rings once more. It must be Dean then, and he sighs, pulling it from his pocket. He'd better answer it now, and deal with the nagging before Charlie hacking into his phone becomes the reality and not just a half wistful daydream.

“Come on Sam, it's been two weeks.” Dean cuts to the chase immediately, and Sam can just picture him, leaning on the outside wall as he scolds his little brother. Dean didn't warm to Magda, not at first, but now he takes his status as 'cool uncle' very seriously.

Sam's just grateful he joins him in trying to spare her the harshness of life.

“And I'm still getting visions, Dean. I have to – you don't understand. I need to see this through.”

“Can you at least tell me more? I know research is your thing, but I'm going crazy here.”

“If I had more to tell you, I would. I'm still trying to find this damn field.”

“I can't believe that's your plan – just drive around until you find a field we visited years ago. Fuck, Sam, that's dumb even for us.”

“What choice do I have?”

“I dunno, you could plan things out instead of taking off before I arrive – nice job by the way, kids freaked.”

“...She is?”

“Of course she is, Sam! Her Dad up and takes off with only a vague note, leaving me to watch her? She's not dumb. Or ignorant, she's fucking physic, you idiot. Trying to keep her in the dark just hurts her. Sam – I'm good with kids, but she's bonded to you, for some fucking reason.” Dean says the last part lightly, gone is his scolding tone, and he sighs. “Look, sasquatch. I know you feel responsible for every person you can't save. I know, trust me I know you wish you could do more. 'snot fair that your noggin tortures you when you try to sleep. ...Just... you'll turn around if you don't find something in a few days, right?”

“Dean...” Sam sighs. He wishes he could agree, but... it's more than that. It's not a simple matter of giving up.

He can't choose when the visions come. He can't choose how clear they are. Sometimes they're only flashing images, faint sensations of unease. A reflection in a window, of wide eyes filled with fear as a monster creeps ever closer. If he's lucky, he'll get something he can recognize.

It's very, very rare that he gets set coordinates. An address nailed to a house, or newspaper article the victim's reading before set upon by unspeakable terrors. 

This is somewhere between the two extremes, and he can't – won't explain how he knows it's serious. Dean... Dean would believe him, Sam knows.

But it feels like a personal failure. This is his cross to bear. Dean worries about him enough.

“Not for me, Sammy. For the kid. She's worried you'll miss the end of her school year. I don't get it, but it's important to you nerd types I guess?”

“I... we have a tradition. I order in, anything she wants within reason, and we watch a movie...”

“Awww. That's so sweet I could barf. Get back here, Sammy. You're almost out of time, and little brother, let me tell you – I am about out of patience for your brat cats.”

“I'm sure they're not more trouble than your dogs, Dean.”

“The black one follows my every step and the white one won't listen. I'm sneezin' up a storm, even with my meds, and they're all up in my stuff. I swear the tabby's telling Slater bullshit, too.”

Ah, yes. The Animal Esperanto that Dean swears exists. Sam helped him find a spell to solve a case over the phone, years ago, and while he says it wore off, now and again Sam wonders if that's really true. 

Otherwise how can he explain Dean keeping The Colonel? Let alone getting another dog? Dad and therefore Dean always stressed how Sam couldn’t have a pet growing up, and now Dean has two. Hunting partner excuse be damned, Dean dotes on them in his own way.

“They like you because you ignore them. It's a cat thing. I... have Magda call me later, we'll talk.” Sam won't – he can't promise he'll be back in time. Much as it pains him to break a family tradition... possibly the last one he'll have with her. 

Next year is graduation, and after that... well, they've talked about colleges, and Sam will support her whatever she decides, but... he has no illusions. She won't need him anymore. Sam’s proud of that, proud of her. He is. Really.

“Man cats are weird. Okay, Sam. I'll let you go – but fucking pick up next time. Tired of this phone tag bullshit.” With that, Dean disconnects.

Leaving Sam with his thoughts and the open road. He reaches down to turn on the radio, if only for a semblance of companionship. His legs are throbbing, unused to being still for so long, but as the music settles over him like a well worn blanket, he blocks it out.

~

The other issue with visions, is Sam never knows what point of view he'll be getting. Will he be a casual observer, invisible to all? Or, less favorably, will he be looking out of someone else's eyes?

This vision is the latter. Sam can feel panic, a mental chant of _no no no_ followed by determination to save at least one member of his broken family. He looks down at his hands – so like his own that Sam's taken aback for a moment. There's different scars, more calluses, but they're big, strong hands. 

He's holding a blade, sturdy with a sharp edge. But all he can feel is dread. He looks up, a familiar lock of brown hair falling into his eyes. He doesn't push it back, there's no time – he has to save Jack. He says something, and Jack shakes his head, refusing to take the offered blade. 

Something inside him clicks. He reaches out, presses the blade into Jack's hands. He'll hate him for this, hell he hates himself for this – but Jack's become so important to him so quickly. 

This isn't a choice. Sam wraps his hands around Jack's, and quick as can be pulls them towards himself. The blade goes deep. Sam knows the human body well, there’s no coming back from this. In a way, he’s relieved, and he should be ashamed of that, but he doesn’t have the energy for it. Not now. Not anymore.

Jack's eyes are wide and he's crying – but Sam doesn't register any pain when he looks down and sees the blood gushing from the wound in his chest. 

A laugh pings out and Sam looks to his left – there's a man there, shabby but somehow so frightening. Or he was, once upon a time. Now all Sam feels is a sense of pity. Rage is too hard, and blood bubbles up from his lips with a laugh of his own.

There's more talking but he can't make out what's being said., despite choking out words himself. The world blurs, Jack's crying, his arms wrapping tight around Sam’s middle, blood soaking them both.

A flash of blue light and Dean's there – wait, Dean? Sam disconnects from the vision without realizing it, stepping out for just a moment because it's Dean, but it's not **his** Dean. He's being pulled back in before he can categorize the changes.

Dean's glowing, he's glowing so bright, his eyes a white-blue as wings flare out behind him. They burn brighter than Cas's ever did. Speaking of Cas, he's right beside Dean, rushing forward.

No. Dean didn't… he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He’s not that stupid! But… he must have.

The blades pulled out Sam, and there's fighting overhead as Cas tries to heal him, but it's too late everything's so dark it's so dark he's – he's watching this from outside his own body.

A woman is beside him, in long robes and holding a scythe. She smiles at him, and something in Sam is certain that she usually isn't so kind. He blinks and she's herself again, jeans and black biker jacket. Gone is the smile, in its place a determined look as the two of them turn back and watch the scene unfold.

Dean's roaring in rage, he knows what's happened to Sam. How could he not, Cas and Jack are crying so much. Lucifer doesn't stand a chance. 

When it's over, Dean tries to walk over to Sam, and Sam can tell he wants to bring him back, but Dean pauses, his eyes flash. 

“Damn it you son of a bitch! We had a deal!” 

Oh, Dean. Did he learn nothing from Gadreel?

Sam steps forward, and he's surprised Billie's letting him. He remembers her promising she'd throw him into the Empty next time they meet; but she's doing nothing to stop his interference. Dean's struggling, clearly fighting against Michael for control of his body – when Castiel rushes forward.

Dean's eyes flash again before he falls lifeless to the floor. He doesn't seem that upset when he steps out of his body.

“I... damn, wasn't sure Cas would be able to go through with it...” Dean watches the scene with disinterest, calmer than Sam likes.

“Really? This was your plan?”

“Yeah... I knew it was a risk, but... you saw what Michael did to Apocalypse World. Couldn't let it happen here...” Dean's looking at Cas. He sighs, shaking his head. “Cas didn't want to, but I needed him to come just in case – in case. Well, you saw. Michael was gonna take over and torch our world, too.”

Sam joins him, slinging an arm over his brother. Castiel is holding Dean's body, his own shaking as he sobs, but Sam can't make out the words. He turns his head, sighing as he sees Jack standing motionless, pale as milk.

“Alright you two. It's time. No more deals, no more second chances.” Billy steps forward, voice oddly kind. She's smiling, more with her eyes than her mouth. “You've saved the world enough, heroes. It's time to go.”

“To the Empty, then?” Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder, taking in one last glimpse of their family. He wishes Mom was here. It’d be nice to see her one last time. 

Cas doesn't... didn't speak about the Empty much, after coming back. It sounds... Sam doesn't know. He can only hope it won't be so bad with his brother beside him. Rest is rest, and he's so tired.

“No.” Billy leads them along, and Sam finds himself surprised that Dean isn't fighting against this. Maybe he's tired, too.

“Then -” Sam doesn't dare to hope, but - 

“I think you both know where you belong. Do me a favor, and don't break Heaven.”

White light over takes the vision, as the woman – he's already forgetting her name, her features, so much is fading – she leads them along, and Sam feels himself floating back into his body.

His head is killing him. Blood, hot and sticky, pouring down his face from his nose. Sam leans forward to catch a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. His eyes are bloodshot, with deep shadows bruised into his skin.

Damn it. He feels like he got no rest, yet when he checks the dash he sees he got a good three hours of sleep. Sam shudders, considering what to do next.

He'd gotten back on the interstate, found a rest area, and pulled in to catch a few hours of sleep in his car. He's no closer to finding the man and the boy – Jack? His name is Jack, isn't it? 

And... Jack was made to kill him. Or an alternate version of himself, at least. Sam sighs, glaring at his reflection.

“Well, you certainly fucked that one up, didn't you?” What was alternate him thinking? Sam knows there's a piece missing to this puzzle, but come on! That's going to fuck the kid up for life!

So much of the vision's leaving him, as his head pounds behind his eyes, but the core remains the same. He'd felt himself die. Watched himself be taken off to the afterlife – and part of Sam snorts at the thought any version of himself can reach Heaven. He knows he's too unclean. Dirty down to his soul.

But it's nice to know it exists. His faith isn’t what it was, not after… just, after. Still. Just because Sam doesn’t deserve Heaven doesn’t mean he isn’t glad it exists.

His brother went with him, or rather alternate him’s brother and… this is so confusing. Sam sighs, everything fading again, names he knew while having the vision slip through his mind like water through his fingers. No matter how much Sam paddles in the deep dark sea of his thoughts, he can't scoop them back up.

Only Jack remains. Jack's important somehow, but Sam doesn't know why yet. He feels drawn to the kid. More so than usual. He does want to help, but mostly...

Fuck, Sam wants to scream at the sky, and ask what it all means. What's he supposed to do with this? He's no closer to finding them, and what's he going to say when – if – he even does?

“Hi, I'm an alternate reality version of the person who committed suicide with your help! Please listen to me, the Devil is interested in you but I don't know why and I don't know how to help you. 'Kay thanks, great talk.” Sam snorts, voice rough from sleep. “I sound crazy even for me.”

Sam should probably worry about how well he's taking the whole alternate reality thing. It explains the rift, for one. Dean would love this. He can deny it all he wants, but Sam knows he's a huge scifi nerd deep down.

He sighs, and leans back in his seat. His eyelids drift closed, and Sam finds himself slipping back into slumber. He faintly hopes for a dreamless rest, but he doubts it'll happen.

The only kind of luck he has is bad. 

~

At dawn's first light, Sam gives up the ghost. His sleep is fitful and fraught with half images, not true visions but his mind tormenting him on everything that might've gone wrong. Probably has, too, knowing his luck. Bad and all that, he might have mentioned. Thought. Whatever, he’s tired, give him a break.

Sam's no closer to finding them, despite two weeks behind the wheel. His body screams at him as he heads back onto the interstate, so he decides to pull off and check into a motel. He doesn't want all his progress to be brought back to zero.

All the same, Sam knows he's going to be paying for this little field trip, and how. He hasn't done his stretches, he hasn't even managed to stretch his legs in some time. From the way he limps into his room, he knows he's forgotten to take his medication as well.

He can just hear his doctor scolding him now. Flopping back on the bed, Sam lets out a long, pain filled sigh. He almost gives in, to go back asleep now that he isn't in danger from running off the road in exhaustion.

But his phone chimes, a familiar one two three beat, and Sam pulls himself upright to dig in his bag. Bottle of testosterone and sharps found, he cleans a spot on his thigh with an alcohol wipe, and jams the needle in.

For a brief moment, he muses on how he's lucky that his upbringing killed any squeamishness long ago. Then his face falls, as he thinks of John, and – no. Sam shoves that down. He doesn't have any right to think of his father in fondness, after what he did.

Not that John would've had it any other way. Sam likes to think that maybe... he'd be proud of him, that he'd finally see Sam as a son. Instead of the tomboy daughter who insisted on destroying her body.

Tears come to his eyes but don't fall, he's too well trained for that. Disposing of the spent needle, Sam tucks his supplies back into his bag and downs the days pills dry. 

He has to remind himself that John loved him, even if he never understood. Maybe one day that’ll be enough. Maybe.

Sam just needs a nap. A day to rest, then he'll keep going. Although... glancing down at his phone, he considers the time and the date. Saturday, meaning Magda's probably sleeping in. But he hasn't talked to her in three days, and – no.

Sam won't be so selfish as to use his adoptive daughter as a pick me up. He's better than John, he doesn't need her to take care of him.

Still, he brings the phone close and scrolls through his photos as he lays back on the bed. It's too hard to pull the covers over himself, but that's alright. It's warm for a mid-May morning, and Sam's never been one to need much comfort. He could and has slept on a rock if need be.

Despite the way he's thumbing through memories right now. He pauses on one photo. It's not a great one – the lighting's poor, and it's a little blurry, but Magda’s smiling at him.

He remembers the day well. Her first birthday with him, and they'd just moved into their house. Magda had even managed to befriend someone at school, and invited her over. Pizza and brownies, no proper cake, but she'd looked like Sam had given her the world.

The friend beside her in the picture is inconsequential, Sam can't even remember her name. But Magda?

Sam will always treasure her smiles. He'll never understand how his own father could leave Dean and him behind, and so often. This is torture. He’s missing part of her life, and he’s not going to get that back, even if he finds Jack and that weird trench coat guy.

Setting the phone down, he sighs. Dean's right, he needs to do better by her. That was part of the deal, wasn't it? He'd be there for her whenever she needed?

Bang up job of that, Winchester. Halfway across the country, searching for people he doesn't even know, just because some vision’s screaming at him to do so. 

Luckily for Sam, falling asleep to self hatred is nothing new.

~

A trilling sound brings Sam out of a blessedly dreamless sleep. He vaguely recognizes it as his phone, before he's hit with a wall of pain. Worse than that is the stiffness, his joints locking up and refusing to move no matter how much he tries.

Wait, he recognizes that tune – it's Magda. Adrenaline shoots through him, and it's just enough to force his body forward a tiny bit. He manages to answer on the final ring, but all that leaves him is a dry hiss.

“...Sam?” Magda's voice rings out, tinny and broken by static, but the concern for him is clear as a bell. 

“Hey, honey.” Sam manages to get out after a few minutes of silence. Willpower and denial has always served him well. She's not supposed to worry about him, he won't – he can't let that happen. “What time is it? Don't you sleep in on Saturdays?” It **is** Saturday isn't it? “...Did Dean wake you up?” 

If so, Dean's going to get such a tongue lashing, Sam will – he's knocked out of his fantasies when she starts laughing.

“Uh… Dad, it's 3pm.” 

“...So it is.” 

“You've been asleep this whole time?”

They talk about nothing much for a while. How she's doing in school, her friend's latest exploits. Sam feels as if a heavy weight's been lifted from his chest. He still can't move, still holds the phone in a vice like grip and prays it doesn't fall, because he's not going to be able to pick it up if it does.

Her voice is a balm all the same.

“And how are the cats? Have Belle and Crow come out from under the bed yet?”

“Slater keeps trying to play with them, so they're staying on the bookshelves and the tables. He's scared of Elijah, though.” She giggles, and Sam finds himself joining in. “He cowers behind Uncle Dean's legs anytime he gets near.”

“Sounds like Elijah. And how's Dean treating you? He hasn't gotten take out for every meal, has he?” Sam wouldn't put it past his older brother. Healthy food is but a suggestion to Dean, and always has been.

“Daaad~” Magda whines, though it quickly turns into giggles once more. “Uncle Dean's taking care of me, you don't have to worry.”

“Hmm. I notice you didn't answer the question. Am I going to come home to a million pizza boxes?”

“Hey, So, if I get all A's, can we get a dog? Slater's a weirdo but The Colonel's pretty cool. He's been sleeping on my bed.”

“I'm surprised Elijah lets him.” Let alone Dean, but then again, Dean's got a soft spot for Magda. Sam pauses a moment, considers calling her out on the subject change, but in the end he decides to let it go. “We'll see. I'm not sure a dog is a good fit for our home.”

Privately, he admits to himself that as much as he'd love one, he knows his various afflictions wouldn't be fair on a dog. The cats only work out because Magda can feed them and clean their litter boxes on Sam's bad days. 

A dog would need more care than he can give. Much as he hates to admit it, if only to himself.

Magda groans, and they fall back into conversation over everything and nothing at all. Finally, she goes quiet for a few minutes, long enough Sam wonders if the call’s been dropped, when he hears her take a deep breath.

“Dad? ...when will you be coming home?”

Sam's heart shatters into a million pieces. His breath catches in his throat, and he struggles to swallow. How could he forget what's really important?

“If I don't find what I'm looking for by tomorrow evening – I'll. I'll head home on Monday, alright? I should be home by...” Sam considers. He's in Kansas now, so if he really pushes it, he could make it back to Blue Earth within a day. “Tuesday?”

“Dad.” Magda's voice takes on a scolding tone, and Sam hides a smile behind his hand though she can't see it. “Don't push yourself, okay? I'll be fine with Uncle Dean looking after me. He's weird and he has the worst taste in movies but he's also kinda cool. Don't tell him I said that.”

“I would never. His head's big enough as it is.” Laughing again, Sam exchanges a few more words with her before struggling to come up with something to say. She seems to be having the same issue, and their call lapses into silence.

Sam doesn't want to, but maybe it's time to hang up.

“Hey, Magda? I know I don't say it often, but... I love you, kiddo. I'll be back before you know it.”

“Ugh, Dad. ...Yeah, love you too.” She hangs up before Sam can further embarrass her, and Sam finds himself feeling lighter than he has in days.

Weeks, really. Much as Sam doesn't like failure, never has... he misses her. It'll be good to see Dean, too. Though Sam's sure Dean's itching to get back on the road, and will leave within a day of Sam returning. Off to hunt monsters anew. 

The desperation he felt seems so far away now. One more day, he'll give it one more day. Then he's going home.

But first? Some well deserved rest, more painkillers, and an anti-inflammatory. Maybe it's time he dug deep into his stash for some steroids as well, or he's never going to get back on the road. Stupid broken ass body.

~

For all of Sam's careful planning and near full day of sleep, he's slow to start the next morning. Since it's Sunday, he takes a moment to count his blessings, and offers up a prayer to above. His life has been hard, and more than unfair, but he's still around to live it.

Besides, it hasn't been all bad. He still has Dean. Magda. Maybe not his health, but he used to be so much worse off. He has a decent income, and there's always credit cards to fall back on. No visions for nearly 48 hours, which after the past month, Sam will take. He's got a good feeling about today.

He lets himself stop at a diner for a late brunch, fills up on sugary snacks he'll never admit to loving, and heads out for one more day of looking. It's a lost cause, and Sam knows it. Somehow he can't bring himself to care.

The hours pass by in a breeze as Sam drives through lowlands, grass swaying with the wind beside the car. For all it's beautiful, Sam feels a queer pang of homesickness. He was born in this state, should have grown up in Kansas, but the open road was his babysitter. 

Still, Blue Earth is his home now. It still feels odd at times, to walk by Pastor Jim's church and see someone else leading his flock. Sam can't go in. He thinks Pastor Jim would understand, for all he'd despair for Sam's soul.

It's too late for Sam anyway. 

In spite of that, Sam loves the town and its people. Not too crowded, with plenty of quirks – it's home. A place he can always return to, where he feels safe. Or as safe as a Winchester can be.

He reaches for his drink, hoping the gas station coffee will jolt him out of his melancholy when a irksome itch begins to scratch at the back of his skull. It turns painful quick as a shot, and Sam can only give a grunt as images assault his mind.

_”Don't! It's – it's **Dad** ”_

Sam's surrounded in a blue haze, the edges blurry but the center needle sharp. He's in a cabin, and he's holding a gun – the colt, long since lost to time. It's heavy in his hands, cold and slippery with his sweat, but he cocks it and aims true.

“Sam – you kill this son of bitch! We have the chance now, take it!” His father struggles to stay upright, the yellow eyed demon inside him clawing and tearing to the surface, making John's eyes flash yellow for seconds at a time before he gasps and grunts, pushing him back.

“Sammy – don't – please!” His brother lies crumpled on the floor, blood staining his lips. Dean can barely open his eyes, let alone move, but his arms raised like he can stop what's happening. 

“Sam! Kill him, now! I can't hold him back much long- guh!” John goes to one knee, growling as his eyes flash yellow for a full minute. “Son, please!”

_”If you step out that door, don't come back.”_

But it's his father. John. **Dad**.

The shot of the gun echoes through Sam's ears, and his father's body falls, and Sam's back in the present, his car swerving left and right as he struggles to take back control. He can feel blood dripping out of his nostrils again, everything's so hazy, but he has to, he's gotta -

_“Dad!”_

Dean's screaming, he's looking at Sam like he's a monster and Dean should've known all along. Dad's chest is crimson, he's not breathing, Sam darts forward but it's too late he took the shot he got revenge. Their life's quest is over and so is John so is Dad no no no!

Dean coughs, and Sam spins, going to help him up instead. There's nothing he can do for John, not anymore. His brother shoves at him, crying, spitting obscenities, but he's too banged and battered to put up much of a fight.

There's no fire this time. But as Sam carries Dean out of the cabin and to the Impala, he has to wonder if this is what Dean felt, all those years ago. When Sam was a baby, and he held him, running from the fire. Now and forever more responsible for his continued existence.

Did Dean hate him then as much as he does now? That's two parents Sam's cost him. 

He's numb as he loads Dean into the car, barely hears his brother pleading for him to _”Get Dad, save Dad, Please Sammy please.”_

The vision tosses and tumbles, bits of reality breaking through, Sam can see a car ahead, can feel himself convulsing in his seat - 

Dean stares straight ahead beside him, features soft with youth. He won't reply to Sam no matter how much Sam pleads. Whether from shock, bloodless, or hatred, Sam has to get him to a hospital soon, he has to – terrible squealing sounds of metal against metal, the impala's tearing to shreds then pain hits, and Sam's head smacks hard against the dash.

Is Dean okay? Sam can't feel his legs. Doesn't matter. Is **Dean** okay? He slips under.

And chokes back to life, vomit spilling over his front and the steering wheel, oh god there really is a car getting closer and closer he has to pull over he can't -

_“So you're the one whose going to end it all. ...But you're just a baby...”_

He opens his eyes, and there's a boy maybe a little older than Dean above him. He has brown hair and blue eyes, and he cocks his head to the side, considering. Sam starts to open his mouth, knows he should scream for Dean or Dad – but the boy puts two fingers to his head and he knows nothing.

Sam's back in the present the cars getting so close fucking hell the visions are finally going to kill him oh fuck – but he can't bring himself to care. The agony will end, and Sam leans forward to embrace it.

He offers a silent apology to Magda, prays that Dean will take care of her -

_“It's you...”_ He's twenty two again, lying in a hospital bed. Sam doesn't know how he knows the man above him. Brown hair and blue eyes, familiar somehow. Like an old friend, for all he's holding a blade above Sam's heart.

The stranger pauses, the tip pressed into Sam's skin enough that red seeps out over his hospital gown. He doesn't feel the pain at all, he's high as a kite, no, higher. Pain is but a distant memory, and not one Sam wants to revisit anytime soon.

Dean's alive and that's all that matters. He hates Sam, hasn't been in to see him since a few days ago – maybe a week? Bobby was there, and oh how he'd winced as Dean screamed at Sam with hate, that he ruined everything, fuck off, fuck you, all deserved Dad's dead Mom's dead all his fault the Impala's wrecked too - 

“Well? Are you going to kill me, or not?” Sam coughs out, and closes his eyes. He may long for death, but he's too much of a coward to run towards it. 

“If that's what you want.” The man speaks, and presses the blade a little further. But not enough to pierce his heart and finally end Sam's miserable little existence.

Over two decades on Earth. More than a lot of people get. Sam should be grateful. It's only a little less than his Mom got. 

Sam starts to laugh, and it quickly turns to sobs.

“You're afraid.” The man says.

“I don't want to go to Hell...”

“You think you'd be damned?”

“Patricide's a sin.”

“But you did it to save you brother...”

White builds behind Sam's eyes, and he feels the blade being removed - 

For the second time in Sam's life he hears the horrible crush of metal as a car crumples around him. He coughs, blood, vomit, and other sundry bodily fluids covering him. The steering wheels pressed against his chest, he's going to be one giant bruise if he even survives this -

He's being pulled from the car; and he yelps, and -

“Sam?!” There's someone leaning over him. He's familiar, and not – he has blue eyes, and short brown hair, and -

“It's... you...” The man from his vision. Sam blinks, and for a moment he hears familiar laughter, sees a dark figure with glowing red eyes leaning against the trench coat clad man. Golden glowing wings spread around them both, burning Sam’s eyes. Then it's gone, taking its laughter with it.

Sam coughs and chokes some more for good measure. Another person leans over him, then another. He recognizes the first, but not the second. Wait.

“Jack?”

Jack seems surprised at first, then relieved, and he rushes forward, arms out swept -

“Jack! Wait!” Trench coat throws out his arm to bar the boy, shaking his head. “You'll hurt him – let me, Sam.”

The man leans down, places his hands on Sam's body. White light flows over him, fills him – little by little, his hurts ease then evaporate like they never existed at all. Every last one of them, not just the ones from the car crash.

Sam extends his arm, flexes his fingers with ease. Stares down at his hands, which obey him without question. 

“What did you just...” He can’t even finish his sentence, too overwhelmed by how much he **doesn’t** hurt.

“You were injured. I healed you.” Trench coat bows his head. “Hello Sam. I... You're supposed to be dead.”

Well. That's news to Sam.


	4. Chapter 4

This is not how Castiel expected the day to go. Not at all.

It occurs to him, not for the first time, as the car in the opposite lane weaves wildly out of control, that his charges are incredibly fragile. Castiel may not have his wings anymore, but he can still heal – not that it matters, if Claire or Jack bleed out before he can get to them.

Just like Sam did.

The ugly thought is heavy in his mind, weighing down his actions as he slams on the brakes. He's out the door before Jack's surprised shout even registers, and he's tearing their doors open as well, adding all his strength to get them out and away before the car gets closer.

Claire's clumsy on her legs, she's asking so many questions, and normally Castiel would be glad, he's missed her voice. He'd give anything to hear more than mono-syllable sentences. But right now, he has to get them to safety.

From the sound of crunching metal, his stolen car is probably totalled. Turning back to it, Castiel grumbles under his breath. Anger overtakes his good will, and he storms forward, determined to give the drunken idiot driver a piece of his mind if they still live.

Maybe hasten them along to the afterlife if they aren’t long for this world.

So imagine Castiel's surprise, when he sees that pale, blood covered face. 

It's... it can't be. His alternate self said she'd killed all the special children. Heaven wouldn't let a single one of them live, and Castiel can sense the demon blood in Sam's veins, for all it's quickly leaking out of him.

Sam. Dying, again.

Castiel's pulling him from the vehicle without thought. He lays him down on the dusty gravel, and sets to work. Sam's so wounded, his bones are brittle with arthritis, more so his hips and below, but there isn't an inch of him that doesn't have some ache or pain.

Much of it is old, years old; but Castiel heals it all. He doesn't care about his own exhaustion, it's Sam – maybe not his Sam, but a Sam nonetheless. The bleeding, internal and external is most prominent, so he starts there, but soon finds himself healing trauma to Sam's brain as well. 

The car crash, the erratic driving makes sense now; Sam had a seizure, and it's not the first time, either. What on Earth?

Sam's talking to him, and Castiel can't say what he replies. It’s all too much, too fast. It's only when Jack steps forward, followed by Claire, that he's back in the present. 

Still, he takes a moment to study Sam. He's... not identical, after all. He's still Sam – his hair is longer, with a bit more curl to it that reminds him of Mary. Broken glasses lay hanging off his face, and Sam reaches up to right them, grimacing.

As well as clearly confused. There was one other difference, that Castiel doesn't understand, but now's not the time to ask. Not when - 

“You're supposed to be dead...” Castiel steps back, taking a deep, unneeded breath to center himself. “Sam... I'm... I am so grateful to see you, you have no idea... but... how are you alive?”

He has to remind himself it isn't his Sam, again and again. The relief, the joy at seeing him – it dims. The adrenaline which filled his vessel, spurring him into action, begins to fade and Castiel drops more than sits on the ground.

It's... it's not **Sam** , Sam. Castiel couldn't save the important one. Just this one. He starts to laugh, though the situation is anything but funny.

“Whoa there buddy -” Sam – not **his** Sam, never **his** Sam – never ever again – steps forward, his hand finds a place on Castiel's shoulder, and Castiel laughs and laughs through it all. The care shown to him is so similar he can almost pretend.

“What's your problem?!” Claire, voice sharp and harsh, cracking in the middle from how high pitched she gets. “Get away from him – you almost killed us!”

Absently Castiel notes that he should feel warm, loved at her concern for him, misplaced as it may be. It's been clear she doesn't know what to make of him – he's not her Angel tormentor, not her jailor though he bears the same name. He's also not her father, despite wearing his face.

Or close enough, her own father dying a few years before the one in his universe did. His feelings for her have always been murky, and Castiel is done trying to figure out what comes from wearing Jimmy for so long and what is purely his own selfish emotion.

He just needs her safe. The source of why doesn’t matter. 

“He had a seizure, Claire... I think a little forgiveness is allowed...” Castiel's voice sounds rough to his own ears. He tries to laugh again, but his throat hurts, and it turns into a coughing fit.

“Cas?!” Jack settles beside him, fear plain on his face. 

Castiel reaches out and pats him on the shoulder between coughs, trying to reassure him he isn't going to lose yet another father. The universe really has been unkind to Jack on that issue. Three at once, even if one of them was literally satan, is at least one father too many.

“Aren't there medications for that?” Claire turns to scowl at Sam, jacket clad arms folding over her chest. Still, she tilts her head so her hair covers her face. “Why don't you watch where you're going, huh?!”

“I'm...” Sam sighs, reaches up at tugs at his hair like he's pained. Castiel would offer to heal him further, but he's beyond spent. “I don't usually have visions during the day. First time I've ever had one while driving, too. But... you're right, I should've pulled over, somehow. I could've killed you all, and I'm sorry for that.”

“Visions?” Castiel manages to get out, after knocking a fist against his chest to calm the spasms. Sometimes he wonders what his father was thinking, designing humans this way. So fragile.

His Sam had visions too, once upon a time. But it had stopped shortly after Dean brought him back to life. Then after his own botched attempt at rescue, it was like any power Sam had once had was left behind with his soul in the cage.

Then again, this Sam is also supposed to be dead.

“That's – that's why I'm here.” a sheepish tone to his voice, Sam hunches in on himself, as if trying to look small. Castiel should tell him that's impossible with his frame, he's big even down on his knees. But Sam's still talking, and Castiel finds his thoughts wandering. 

He feels foolish himself. Jack and Claire are worried about him, when Castiel has placed himself as their caretaker. Claire might be in her early twenties, but all humans are children to Castiel, and it's not like she got to live those years out herself.

Castiel wishes Dean was here. He could use some blunt words, a slap on the back, someone to listen when he says he's fine while knowing he's anything but. Castiel feels cold.

“Do you... have an older brother?” He finds himself asking.

“An – yeah. I have a big brother, Dean.” Sam goes to his knees now, and reaches out to place his hands on Castiel's. He moves his hands back and forth in a manner Castiel guess is supposed to be soothing, not that it helps. “Why'd you... no, y'know what? It's fine. Yeah, Dean's back home, watching after my daughter. Er. My foster kid. Well. She's actually adopted, but – yeah. You don't care about this. Sorry I guess.”

Sam sighs, his bangs blowing out of his eyes before falling right back on his face.

“Sorry ‘bout a lot of things. Look, I don't know what I did to upset you – this is obviously about more than the car crash, and I'm sorry about that too – but. I'm really... ha. Broken record I guess. Sorry. again. Look, I don't know how to explain this, but I have visions, and – I know you have no reason to believe me, but you're in danger. Please, please come with me.”

“Alright.” Castiel agrees without thinking.

“What?!” Claire yells, turning to stare at him. “Are you nuts? This guy almost killed us and you – you're going with him just like that? Because of some 'vision' or whatever?”

For a minute Castiel thinks she's going to storm off, and that's the last he'll ever see of her, but she only shakes her head from side to side. She mutters something, which he only catches thanks to his enhanced hearing. “Idiot... I guess someone needs to look after you...” 

He actually does feel warm this time, and the corners of his mouth turn up. She cares, in her own gruff way.

“Jack?” He glances at the boy, who's staring at Sam with a mix of wonder and... Castiel can't really say. He supposes that’s fair. He imagines he looks similar himself. It's Sam, so similar to their lost friend, and yet... difference upon difference becomes apparent minute by minute. 

“I... I want to go. It's. It's Sam.” Jack nods. Then he starts to wrap his arms around his chest, before catching himself and shoving them into his pockets instead. Castiel bites back a sigh as Jack's walls go back up.

Well, it was nice while it lasted, at least. There may be hope for him yet. For all of them.

“Only...” Jack glances over at the wreckage. “How are we going to get to your home, Sam? I do not think either of them are drivable.”

Sam sucks in a breath through his teeth, nodding.

“Eeeeeyeah. That could be a problem... hang on.” He digs through his pockets, and Castiel finds himself drawn to Sam's hands. His fingers are just as long, his palms just as wide, but he doesn't have the calluses of **his** Sam.

Castiel needs to stop thinking of him that way. Sam is dead and gone. He'll never see him again in any fashion. He closes his eyes before melancholy can overtake him, and faintly listens to this Sam making a phone call to Bobby.

At least one thing is the same in this universe. Bobby's cursing Sam out like there's no tomorrow. Castiel never was that close to the Winchester’s father figure, but it’s comforting to hear just the same.

Oh, what is wrong with him? He'd thought – no, he'd known that people were different across universes. He wasn't like Sam and Dean. Though he'd been grateful for Bobby's help in the apocalypse world, he hadn't instantly bonded like the brothers had.

And yet, now that he meets another Sam, he's prepared to follow him home like a lost, pathetic little puppy.

Not that there's much choice. They're out on a back country road with no car, Jack with no grace, Claire no history and Castiel no wings. His own grace is slow to recharge, and will be for a long time. He's not cut off from the Host, not exactly, but it's so different from his own that he wonders if he may as well be.

But he's still an angel. For the time being, anyway. His mission is to protect humanity, and right now that includes Jack and Claire. Going with Sam just makes sense.

He wonders if part of him wants Sam to be his mission, too. This Sam, specifically.

Opening his eyes halfway, Castiel studies him. He finds himself drawn to the differences just as much as the similarities. He wants to know if this Sam could... no. 

Castiel doesn't deserve Sam's love, not any version of him. Still, he hopes this Sam may come to call him a friend. Castiel's running low on those.

~

Watching Jack with Sam is painful for multiple reasons. 

Castiel's sitting in the backseat of their new car, Claire beside him. Whereas Jack is in the passenger seat, alternating between chatter and bouts of silence. He'd climbed into the spot before Castiel could say anything.

Not that he would have. He's too grateful that Jack's acting more like himself. Although he wonders if he should have a talk with Jack about this being a different Sam, about not getting his hopes up... but no. 

Castiel's the one who agreed to go with him, after all. Jack must know, deep down. And if he hopes despite himself, Castiel won’t be the one to crush that. Not this time.

“So you're a writer?” Jack asks, after ten minutes of silence.

“Mmm hmm. Freelance. I write some articles, here and there. It pays the bills... kinda.” Sam laughs, shaking his head. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, as if he's worried about his driving skills. Then again, with the outburst from Claire earlier, maybe he is. “I've got a few books out under a pseudonym, too.”

“You write fiction?” Castiel speaks up, earning himself a glare from his companion. He tilts his head at Claire, and wonders if he should say something about this hostility towards Sam. He decides against it when she turns to face the window.

“It's my way of...” Sam pauses, considering, then shrugs. “Letting people know about the supernatural without actually telling them straight out, you know? Mysteries, mostly, about a pair of sisters who hunt... everything. Their methods should work in real life, if anyone finds themselves in similar situations... ah... what are you all, by the way?”

Sam glances back at them, offering a sheepish smile.

“My visions aren't always clear, and I... know you've met 'me' but I've never met you before.”

“I am an Angel of the Lord. Or I was... the lord stepped out some time ago. For family time.” 

“Uh... right....” Sam blinks, turning his gaze back towards the road. “That's... I guess that tracks...”

“I'm the son of Satan.” The car swerves at Jack's revelation, and Jack winces for it. “But he's not my dad! Castiel is. And... the Sam and Dean of my universe, they... they were, too...”

“I get the feeling they loved you very much.” Sam seems shaken, his skin pale and there's something to his eyes Castiel doesn't like. “I... ah hell, I may as well tell you. I got a vision of them dying, too. It's not your fault, kid.”

“I was an angels vessel for twelve years, if that matters.” Claire speaks, muffled by the glass though her voice is. When Castiel glances over, he can see that her eyes are closed. Before he can offer comfort, she continues on. “This world's version of angel eyes over there.”

Castiel's hand pauses, halfway to Claire's shoulder. He pulls it back, and turns away so she can't see the shame in his eyes. It seems no matter the universe, he only hurts her.

“So uh... why are you traveling with Castiel here, then?” Sam glances back at them again, one brow arched. “Seems to me, you should hate him.”

“Yeah well...” Claire shrugs, apparently uncaring if Sam sees it or not. “He got me my freedom back, so the jury's still out I guess. He's weird, weird as hell, but he's... eh. He’s what I’ve got. For now, anyway.”

“Thank you, Claire.” Castiel offers her a smile. 

“Whatever.”

The car lapses back into silence. Castiel finds himself grateful for it. The past few weeks haven't been without their hardships, but they haven't been all that exciting, either. Just the three of them and the open road, with little conversation.

Logically, Castiel knows this is a good thing. While he's only known Sam a few hours, he senses no deceit. Sam... Sam, no matter the Sam, has a good soul. This Sam isn't **his** , and he has to stop thinking of Sam that way, he had no claim over him, **ever** , but Sam still radiates kindness no matter what.

He's softer in many ways, yet has clearly suffered, and wants to prevent anyone else from suffering like he has. Despite his civilian occupation, he still knows the seedy underbelly of human life.

Sam hadn't batted an eye when Castiel explained his car was stolen, only called on Bobby to pick up both wrecks. Then promptly stole them a new one, disposing of the license plates in record time. It put Castiel strangely at ease.

At least one thing remains the same between universes... though he supposes he needs to start thinking of this place as home. It will be for a long, long time.

A phone ringing disturbs their quiet. Sam jumps a little, hands digging in his pockets wildly before pulling out his phone. It's a smartphone, of course, but Castiel finds himself smiling at the stickers on the back. **His** Sam... no, Sam of the old universe, that Sam never bothered with decorations.

Especially something as frivolous as a sparkly kitty cat. Castiel finds he likes it, however. 

“Hey, Dean, I'm on my way home-” Sam begins, then he's shortly cut off. 

Dean. **Dean. _Dean._** That's Dean's voice he hears, a little gruffer than he's used to, but Dean just the same.

“I'm fine Dean. No – Of course Bobby told you...” Sam sighs, letting his brother's lecture wash over him. “Look, I'm not hurt. The car’s totaled – Dean use your brain, I know you have one – if I was dead could I be talking to you right now? Dean. Dude. Have you ever heard of a ghost possessing a phone? ...Yeah, you're right, that would be kickass.”

Castiel will never understand the Winchesters, no matter what universe they are from.

“That's Dean?” Jack speaks up, startling Sam a little. 

This Sam certainly scares easier than... he scares easier, in any case.

“Yeah, he's throwing a shi-” Sam pauses, as if taking in Jack's age and whether he should curse around him. Then shrugs, since he already has. “He's mad I got in a car crash even though **I am fine, Dean**. I found them. One's an angel, and he healed me. Yes I said angel, and no, I don't have a concussion. Dean, when I say he healed me...”

Sam leans down, his voice goes quieter, but Castiel can still hear him.

“He healed me of everything. I don't... Dean, I trust him. I think I've still got a little nearsightedness, but that's about it. I don't hurt. At all.” The brothers talk some more, mostly Dean making Sam repeat himself every third sentence until Sam gets fed up with him. “Look, Dean, tell Magda I'll be home tomorrow morning. With some company. Three people, a man and two young adults. Yes Dean I'll test them before letting them in, I'm not dumb, okay? Goodnight, Dean. ...Thank you. Jerk.”

With a sigh, Sam shuts off his phone and tosses his head back against the seat.

“Are you alright, Sam?” Jack leans forward, then pulls away, catching himself. “Not that I can do anything...”

“You do plenty just by showing concern, kid.” Sam lets out a little chuckle. “Dean means well, but he can be a little overbearing at times.”

“Yes. He is … our Dean was, much like a bear when awoken. I didn't listen to Cas's warning.”

“Right. That too.” If Sam finds Jack weird, he doesn't show any sign of it. He taps out a beat on the steering wheel, and seems content to let the car lapse back into silence.

All the same, Castiel finds himself smiling with Sam when Jack starts to ask questions about this universe. Many of which are about Star Wars.

Most of which are about Star Wars, in fact. Castiel hopes that's a good sign.

~

They only stop once. It's a night spent in worry, as Castiel takes a chair and attempts to meditate while Sam and Jack sleep. For the most part, Castiel finds himself watching Sam in bed. He shouldn't find it comforting that Sam has nightmares, but he does.

He recognizes the signs; the way Sam's breath changes, the twitch of muscles, before he forces himself to still, hunter's instinct kicking in. Castiel's hand itches to reach forward, and soothe him like he's used to doing. Or at least, read aloud from a cherished book until Sam calms.

But the only book in this room is the bible, and while Sam might not mind Castiel reading from it, Castiel has no inclination to. He finds no comfort in those words, changed over and over by man. He doubts he would even if they were accurate.

The dawn cannot come soon enough, and when it does, Castiel steps out to gather food and drink for his companions. He frowns when all he can find is canned coffee, boxed juice, and plastic wrapped pastries.

Claire steps out of her room and takes them just the same. He supposes he should be glad she didn't run off in the night, and he is, but – he does wish he'd been able to get something healthier. She doesn't have an angel keeping her going anymore, and Jack's in a similar situation. With a sweet tooth to rival Dean's.

Still, Jack takes the pastries and juice, whereas Sam helps himself to coffee and nothing else. Castiel feels he should say something, but he stops. He has no right, they're not friends – not yet, no matter how much he wishes they were.

Castiel sighs, and heads to the car. He's too old to be so confused all the time. It really does get tiring.

The humans – or close enough, don't take much longer to get ready, and they're back on the road. It's a quiet drive this time, everyone still half asleep with only the radio to keep them company. That suits Castiel just fine.

He's still not quite sure what to make of this whole situation. While it's true he had no plan, other than find someplace safe, he still feels a little put out. But eons old celestial beings do **not** pout, so he keeps his gaze forward and his thoughts inside.

Still, it would be nice if someone would break the silence and take him out of his head. If only for a minute or two.

~

Sam's house is half brick and half wood; with a garden that is half weeds and half pine. A few wildflowers poke out here and there, as if someone tried to tame it, but gave up halfway, only to try again in a separate spot with the same end result. The word that most comes to Castiel's mind is 'country'. 

He's not sure why. Either way, he lags behind as Sam parks, heart pounding in his vessel at the sight of the Impala. It's not the same Impala, that much is clear right away. In the back is a heavy duty blanket, with a smaller one in the front. Dog hair decorates both, and Dean would never – but this Dean does. Castiel has to accept the differences, much as he doesn’t want to.

A whirlwind of barks kick up as Sam kills the engine, and two dogs, both german shepherds, rush from the forest. One is older, with a torn ear and heavy scarring on one side, while the other is young; still growing into his limbs, which he trips over twice on the way to their stolen car.

“Hey Colonel, Hey Slater.” Sam greets them both, dropping to his knees to pet and accept licks. He laughs all the while, then turns towards the rest of them. “Don't worry. They only bite if Dean tells them to.”

Jack follows suit, leaning down to ask the dogs questions as if he can still understand their replies. Claire meanwhile is wary at first, but soon finds herself charmed by the younger dog. As for himself? Castiel still can't get his vessel to obey him and leave the car.

“This old guy is The Colonel.” Sam rubs the older, scarred dogs ears. “Dean picked him up on a case a few years back. I wish I was there, it sounded hilarious... and this is Slater, he's supposed to be Colonel's back up now that he's getting on in years but..”

Sam laughs, not needing to say anything when Slater wiggles his way into Claire's arms, knocking her over. Claire goes wide eyed, and Castiel finds himself leaving the car to go help. But pauses, as she begins to laugh as well, her hands coming up to ruffle the dogs fur.

“The Colonel? Did he serve?” Jack's studying the older shepherd intensely. He's being studied just as hard by the dog, whose head is tilted to the side. But Jack must pass muster, as the dog begins to wag his tail and nuzzle at Jack's hands.

This is... a good thing. So why does Castiel feel so lost?

The door to Sam's house opens, and out steps a familiar figure. His hair is greying, far more than Castiel is used to, and he wears an eyepatch over his left eye, with several twisted scars peeking out from under it. His fashion is much the same; flannel and leather, with jeans covering his bowed legs, and as he watches them, his lips turn up into a grin.

“'Bout time you got back, Sammy.” His voice is maybe an octave or two deeper, but he's still Dean. And he turns to glare suspiciously at Castiel, arms coming up to cross over his chest. “So this is your angel of the lord, huh?”

“My name is Castiel, and I am an angel, yes.”

“He's his own angel, Dean. Relax. If he was going to kill me, he'd have done it by now. Or are you scared of these two?” Sam shrugs a shoulder in Jack and Claire's direction. 

The youngest two are ignoring the three of them, too caught up in the dogs. Slater is now in Jack's lap, yipping happily while The Colonel obediently sits when told to by Claire. Who then rewards him with many, many pets.

“Some monsters have dogs.” Dean shrugs himself, but steps aside, letting a second person leave the house. Castiel doesn't recognize her, but from the way Sam runs forward, and she meets him in a hug, he supposes this must be Magda.

Her hair is brown, and wavy, down to her chin. Yet shorter than Sam's own. She has a hunted look to her eyes at first, which eases as the two of them talk. Briefly he feels something caress his grace, his mind, before darting away, almost shy.

Castiel could easily hear their whisperings if he so chooses, but he finds himself walking over to Claire and Jack instead.

He knows a father reuniting with a child when he sees it happening. He won’t intrude.

Crouching low, he offers a hand for the dogs to sniff. They do, first Slater, who covers it in slobber until he decides to take a lap around the house, baying his joy for all the world to hear. Then The Colonel, his head tilting as he sniffs lightly. He sneezes after, as if put off by Slater's spit.

“I have to agree...” Castiel mutters. He hears a crunch of boots behind him, but stays still. He'd know that gait anywhere. “Hello Dean.”

“So. What's the sitch – you're from another universe, according to Sam, and an angel, but-”

“I know you do not have faith. I don't – I can't blame you. If you are anything like the Dean I knew...” Castiel sighs, still staring straight ahead. “To say life has been unkind to you would be an understatement. But yes, I am, so is Jack. I... we ran, because I woke up a cosmic entity and pissed it off.”

“Cosmic entity? Uh... is it going to come lookin'?”

“No. It shouldn't, we're in another universe, and with luck, it will fall back asleep and we can one day go home.”

“Any idea how soon that'll be?”

“In all likelihood, several centuries, perhaps an eon. Something like this has never happened before, to my knowledge.”

“'To your knowledge'... so you don't know?”

“No. I do not.”

And isn't that at the heart of Castiel's problems? For all his years, for all his experience, there is so little he actually knows. He thought he was beyond learning, but the Winchesters proved him wrong again and again.

Castiel would give anything to have them teach him a lesson once more. But as he stands, and looks towards this new Dean, he has a feeling he will have to be the teacher this time.

With a sigh, he offers Dean his knife.

“If you're wary of me, I can't blame you. Holy fire can weaken me, can trap me, but the only thing that will kill me is this.” He waits until Dean takes it to speak again. “I know it means little, but I mean you no harm... and Jack is just a boy, and Claire hasn't had a chance to have a life.”

Turning his gaze skyward, he wonders if this will be the last thing he sees. Jack cannot wake him up again, powerless as he is now.

But there is no blade between his ribs, no broken wings to flare out in one final attempt at flight. Dean hands him back his weapon.

“Alright, Castiel... Cas. I'll give you a chance.” Dean turns and heads towards the house. A whistle has his dogs following behind, tails held high as they close rank behind their master. “Don't make me regret it.”

Sam calls for them, and Jack and Claire head inside. Castiel takes a few moments for himself. It seems he was wrong, once again.

But he finds himself smiling, happy to be taught his first lesson by a new Dean. He only hopes the old one would forgive him for finding comfort in a similar face.

“Castiel?” Sam peaks his head out from the door. “Are you coming?”

He nods, and heads inside.

~

Dinner is a simple affair; boxed pasta with jarred sauce, accompanied by baked garlic bread taken from the freezer. A large bowl of fresh cut salad remains constant across the universes, and though Castiel doesn't eat, he finds himself happy to sit down while everyone else does. 

Claire and Jack dig into their food with a ferocity that makes him worry he's been neglecting their nutritional requirements. Dean keeps trying to catch Sam's eye over everyone else's heads, but the younger brother is dutifully ignoring the eldest.

Castiel takes a drink of his water for something to do, but sets it aside when the heavy chemicals used to clean it coat his vessel's tongue. 

“Don't feel bad if the cats ignore you.” Sam's eating more salad than anything else, which is also familiar. “They're pretty shy, but after a few days they'll get used to you.”

Dean grunts, and from the way Sam winces, Castiel is sure Dean kicked him from under the table. He'd thought himself a master in Winchester silent communication, but this is a new dialect. He supposes he'll have time to learn it, though a melancholy fills him at that realization.

Castiel doesn't regret falling, not really, but sometimes he does miss the clarity of order. Emotions can be so tiring.

But as Jack laughs at something Magda says, he's reminded that many of them are worth it.

“You have cats?” Castiel glances at the dogs, who are laying in the living room, just beyond the kitchen. Slater is doing a poor job of not begging, while The Colonel sleeps on. “And... Dean has dogs. Curious...”

“Sam's a regular crazy cat lady.” Dean leans back in his chair, and almost puts his feet on the table, only stopping when Sam glares at him. With a shrug, Dean takes a sip of his beer before continuing on. “Every time I stop by, there's another one.”

“Oh, bull- err. Baloney.” Sam glances at Magda, then turns back to Dean, rolling his eyes. “Elijah just showed up one day, then Crow came in half drowned from the storm, and Belle was dropped on our doorstep...” He pauses, considering. 

“See? You're a soft touch and people know it.” Dean gestures towards Sam with his near empty bottle, making a quick if pointed glance towards Castiel. 

“Eiherway-” Sam speaks up before Castiel can object, or Dean starts anything. “Three cats isn't a lot, and I've asked you not to call me that.” Stabbing his fork into his salad, Sam glares at Dean as he chews violently.

Dean doesn't appear to care. He catches Castiel's eyes as if to say 'see what I have to put up with?'. Castiel smiles back, which makes Dean frown, and turn away, probably remembering he'd decided he didn't like Castiel.

Emotions. Very, very confusing things.

The rest of the dinner passes by quickly enough, and Sam explains their sleeping situations.

“Well, there's three bedrooms, but I have one and Magda has one-”

“Claire can sleep with me!” Magda pipes up, cheeks flushing when everyone turns to look at her. It's the loudest she's been all evening. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks away. But Castiel has a feeling it's Claire's gaze which affects her the most. “I mean, if that's okay with Claire...”

“If you don't mind sharing.” Claire shrugs.

“I think I've got a cot in the attic somewhere. At least until we can get Claire a bed, or maybe bunk beds, or something-” 

Dean looks upset at this, but Sam doesn't seem to notice. He's biting at his lip, and Castiel wonders why he's so preoccupied with Sam's face. It is a nice face, of course, but why his eyes are drawn to the flash of white from Sam's teeth he doesn't know.

Castiel's been getting better at lying lately. Especially to himself.

“As for you and Jack...” Sam stops, considering. “Normally I'd offer the guestroom but Dean's sleeping there...”

“I don't sleep.” Castiel reminds him, glancing over at Jack. He didn't used to need it, either, but since losing his grace he's been sleeping a lot. Castiel wonders if any of the shelves lining the living room wall contain books on adolescent mental health. He hopes so.

Jack is worlds better as of late, since Claire began traveling with them, and more so, Sam. But he's still not happy. Not that Castiel can ever recall him being happy. Perhaps that's the crux of the problem.

“Kid can have my bed. I'm leaving in the morning, I'll sleep on the couch.” Dean shrugs, looking away from them all.

“Then I will take the recliner and watch over you as you sleep.”

“Yeeeah that's not creepy at all.” Dean mutters under his breath, shaking his head as he stomps up the stairs. “Gimme a second to get my shit, and the beds all yours, kid.”

“Do you have to leave so soon?” Sam asks, hair falling in his face as he looks down. Castiel finds it curious that he won't meet Dean's gaze.

What Winchester drama has he walked into now?

Dean's answer is the slam of a door, and Sam sighs.

“I'll go see what I can find in the attic. Oh and word of warning – don't go in the basement.”

“Why? Got skeletons in the closet? Bodies buried in the basement?” Claire arches a brow, arms folding over her chest. She's clearly ready to start another argument, but the strangest thing happens as Magda sets her hand on Claire's arm. Claire looks at Magda, and Magda tilts her head to the side.

Castiel would almost say they're talking, but no words are spoken.

“Uh... I don't think so, but I'd better check-” Sam pauses, stroking his chin. “I guess maybe that could count...”

“I thought you were a good person?” Jack leans forward, clearly confused. “Wait. You're not a hunter, but Dean still is – is this your version of the bunker?” He looks more gleeful at that question than Castiel would like.

“Bunker? What? No – well, I do keep some hunting supplies down there, but-”

“What Sam's trying to say,” Magda cuts in with a shy giggle, shaking her head. “Is that he has things in curse boxes down there, and he doesn't want you to get hurt. Also I think there’s a werewolf bone in one of them, which is, like a body guess? Or part of one.”

“I see. So in essence you are still a man of letters... this universe is very strange...” Jack brings his hand to his chin, mirroring Sam. “I wonder if the bunker still exists here, or if it was never built at all... Rowena did say this universe wasn't as active as home.”

“This place ain't active?” Dean tosses a bag down from the top floor, rolling his eyes as he stomps down the steps. “No offense kid, but I think it's plenty active.”

“Yes but there's been no apocalypse, Lucifer never broke out of his cage here, and-”

Castiel loses track of the conversation. He's too focused on the way Sam seems to shrink in on himself, his arms wrapping around his chest as he shivers. But the house must be seventy degrees, at least, and he's wearing three layers atop that. 

When Sam heads down the hall, leaving the bickering children behind, Castiel follows him. Sam comes to a stop right outside what Castiel assumes is a bathroom. Sam opens the door wide, and steps inside to lay his head against the cool tiled wall.

“...Sam? Are you alright?” Castiel asks after a few minutes pass with only heavy breathing from Sam. 

“Cas?” Sam tilts his head towards the door, and one eye opens halfway to look at him. “Ah... sorry about this... sometimes I just get overwhelmed. Psychic stuff, y'know?”

No, Castiel doesn't know. When Sam had powers back in his universe, it was nothing like this. The visions had stopped before Castiel was even in the picture. But he nods anyway.

This is another version of 'fine', afterall. As much as he wonders why Sam only paled when the morning star was brought up, he will let it rest.

He only hopes it will be a peaceful one.

~

The night finds Castiel where he said he would be; sitting in a comfortable, if beaten up leather recliner. His coat lies over the back, and his hands are clasped in his lap. Dean watches him watching Dean sleep. Or attempt to, at least.

“Can you like, close your eyes or something?” Dean turns to face the wall, or rather, the many, many bookshelves. Castiel can hear his breath even out in sleep, despite his grumping.

Castiel leans back in his chair, and holds back a sigh. For the most part he found sleep annoying, and frustratingly necessary, when he had to succumb to it. But times like this, where he only has his own thoughts for company, he almost finds himself longing for a dream or two to pass the time.

Meditation isn't the same, though it can be restful.

He closes his eyes, only to see The Empty's gaping, oozing black maw waiting for him behind them. He opens his eyes right back up, and shivers. No, if he never has another dream, he'll be a lucky man. Or, Angel.

There's a soft, scraping sound, then a weight presses into his lap. Blinking, Castiel looks down to see a tabby glaring up at him. It squints at Castiel, ears down, as it considers him. Then presses its head into Castiel's hand, but before Castiel can offer a pat, it jumps down, and patters up the stairs.

It pauses at the top, as if daring him to follow. Castiel looks away.

That must have been Elijah, then. He wonders if Belle and Crow will ever come out. Then wonders why he even cares. 

Castiel grows frustrated with himself. He's a celestial being, eons old, he can handle a few hours with his own thoughts. 

But still, when Dean begins to stir around three, he finds himself relieved. It's sudden, Dean tossing this way and that, then bolting to his feet panting. He glances at Castiel once, clearly startled to see him, before shaking himself and heading to the kitchen.

The sound of the fridge opening and clanking bottles follows. Then comes the sound of the door, closing softer than Dean's state of mind would belie. Castiel waits a few moments, considering, before pulling himself to his feet and tugging on his coat.

He doesn't need it, barely feels the cold May night, but he draws comfort from its weight across his shoulders. A dog, the younger one – Slater – shoves his way past when Castiel opens the door. He pauses, then shrugs to himself.

The dogs were out earlier, and Sam lives in the country. It's probably fine.

He makes his way through the dew streaked grass, which crunches under his feet. There's a slowly building light up ahead, which Castiel follows until he comes to a fire pit. Dean's throwing more wood on top of it, and he gives Castiel a nod as he sits down on the half logs surrounding it.

Dean takes a seat opposite him, one hand finding a bottle of beer, the other burying itself in Slaters fur. Slater, for his part, whines unhappily as he sets his head in Dean's lap. Dean chuckles, takes a long, slow sip of his beer, then glances towards the sky.

“Yer good for something after all, huh boy?”

Castiel doesn't reply. He's not sure Dean knows that the dog can't, not with words anyway. But he's content to sit and listen to them talk.

But Dean doesn't speak again, not for some time. He nurses his beer down to the last drop, hand running through Slaters fur all the while. It's only when he's cracked open a second that he turns to look at Castiel.

“Did you really heal him?” Dean tips his bottle towards the house. “My brother? Of... everything?”

“I cured his arthritis and other ailments, yes. I cannot take away the visions, and...” Castiel considers, wondering if he should bring up the other thing he sensed that was different from his world's Sam. “His -”

“That part of Sam aint wrong. Never has been.”

“I- alright.” Castiel's confused, but what else is new? “I could heal you as well,” He gestures towards Deans many, many scars, “When I've regenerated some of my grace, anyway.”

“Ha! Are you kidding? I look badass, man. Worked hard for these scars. Earned 'em.”

Castiel isn't sure what's so 'badass' about limited depth perception, but he lets it go.

“An angel, huh?” Dean takes a long drink from his beer, and glances skyward. Castiel joins him, though he sees no stars. Still, they must be there, hidden behind the clouds and ever present human light. “Sam's always been the religious one... but if you healed him, I'll believe...”

“In my universe, you were known as the righteous man. I think you are here as well.”

Dean snorts. “Righteous man? If anyone's righteous, it's Sammy. You know... I hated him, for awhile...”

“Why don't you two travel together?” Castiel asks the question that's been burning inside him for some time. After all, in his universe, “When the two of you are apart... things don't go well.”

“Heh... Sammy's always been running away. I... I brought him back into the life, you know? Years ago, back when I couldn't find Dad... and we hunted together, for a time, but...” Dean glances down into his bottle, going silent for several minutes. Slater practically climbs into his lap. 

“If this is... hard, I-”

“No, it's good to get this shit out. Now's the time for it. Nightmares and beer, and forgotten by morning.” Dean meets Castiel's eyes with his one, frowning hard. “And it will be forgotten by morning, get it?”

Castiel nods. He's familiar with Winchester denial.

“We'd been hunting – Dad had been hunting the fucker that killed our mom. The yellow eyed demon. Sam found out later, years later, his name was Azazel, but. He was dead by then. Possessed our Dad, and Sammy... Sammy shot him, like Dad asked... and I hated him for it, for years.”

That strikes Castiel as something Sam would do. He can... he could be very pragmatic, when it came down to it. Yet, he recalls how Sam was the first to reach out to him, when Castiel had gone mad with power, filled with Leviathan souls. Even after the man's death he still struggles to understand Sam Winchester. 

Sam quite literally stabbed him in the back, but still prayed to him with such certainty that… it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

Dean continues, and Castiel finds himself relieved to be pulled from his thoughts.

“Then... we got hit by a fucking semi. Sam was worse off than me, but I didn't want to hear it. The minute I was well enough to walk, I got in a car and left. Didn't speak to him for a full year, 'til Bobby forced my hand... and. I saw him, struggling to walk himself, a year later and... I just couldn't stay mad.”

Dean looks off into the woods, in the direction of the house, and the Impala, and Castiel finds himself voicing the thought they must both be having.

“But now, he could hunt with you again.”

“Nah.” Dean takes a swig, shaking his head. “Don't get me wrong, I'll always want Sam by my side. He'd join in, time to time, but he always slowed me down. Last time he came, we found Magda, and now? ...I can't ask him to leave again. 'Sides, he's always a phone call away, with whatever info on the baddie I need. And I've got Slater here, and The Colonel to back me up.”

Slater wags his tail at his name, all puppy long limbs and oversized ears. Castiel finds himself unimpressed, and Dean snorts again.

“Yeah, he ain't much now. But me and The Colonel'll tough him up yet. Good talk, Cas.” Dean sets his second glass down, and begins a third. 

Castiel wonders if he should say something. Not that he knows what he could even say. So he settles on keeping the man company, the crackling of the fire and the clinking of glass the only sounds in the early morning.

It's almost meditative. So Castiel isn't too mad at himself for being startled when Dean speaks again.

“Hey, Cas? Do me a favor?”

“If it's within my power...” Castiel looks down at his hands, then up, nodding. “Anything. Anything you could ask, I will do.”

“Look out for my brother, okay? He's not telling me something. Something big. Dunno what it is, but it's bad, and... if anyone deserves an angel lookin' after 'em, it's Sammy.”

“You have my word.” And so, Castiel finds himself slotting into this new universe. 

It's strange, it's different. But still so familiar. They aren't his Winchesters, not yet, but they're slowly becoming important to him all the same. He still mourns Sam and Dean, and he knows he always will.

But Sam and Dean are here, as well. Their Castiel... the less said about her, the better. They need him, and Castiel has always needed to be needed.

The fire burns low, and Dean sinks down on the half log. Castiel pulls off his coat and drapes it over him, nose scrunching up as Slater cuddles up close. 

He went from two Winchesters which barely knew how to interact with an animal, to living in a zoo. He supposes he'll have to get used to a little fur on his clothes. 

The sky brightens as Castiel stands guard over man and dog.


	5. Chapter 5

At what point is a nightmare a vision?

Sam often finds himself pondering this question. Whether he's slow to wake, covers tangling around him, tugging him deeper and deeper into the dream, despite his desperate struggle to awaken. Or a sudden, jarring fall back into awoken awareness.

He can't explain how he knows when things are true, even if the vision is peppered with impossibilities. Such as blood slowly dripping from invisible wounds, or the sky, colors shifting into ones he knows no names for, knows he won't recall upon awakening. But he knows just the same.

It's horribly unscientific. Somehow, that bothers him, even with the upbringing he had, with what he helps his brother hunt from afar. His visions don't seem to care either way. They never have, Sam is but a vessel, a conduit, and his mind and body, the aftermath?

Inconsequential.

What's worse about this one is Sam knows he's asleep. He'd been having a very nice dream, almost a memory, of being in college, except his brother was there, Castiel too, and Jack and Claire and Magda, all the same age, his sleeping mind finding nothing unusual about this.

One moment, he's drinking tea while debating the merits of Watership Down and telling human stories with animal counterparts with Castiel. The next, blackness spills over everything. Covering first the scenery, then every person but himself, like ink, until it reaches Sam, and he begins to drown in it.

Down, down he's pulled, coming to a stop against nothing at all. Every which way he looks, more of the same. It's not like a starless night at all. Instead of the knowledge that just beyond the clouds lies a world of life, there's only... nothing.

A very **furious nothing**. Anger, pressing in on him from all sides. It catches and chokes in his throat, hot tears spilling down Sam's cheeks. But he doubts the entity is able of such expression.

And it is an entity; great clawing darkness swiping through time. Now and again Sam gets flashes of images he struggles to understand. It's searching, searching, then returning empty handed. People? Lie sprawled about, facedown in the darkness.

Unaware, for all eternity. Sam feels like he should know some of them, but there are so many...

Eyes open in front of him, a figure pools up from the nothing, forming bit by bit out of blackness. It leans close enough Sam can feel it's breath against his face.

“Well, well... aren't you brazen... nothing here for you, little hunter. Go home. And let me sleep... let me... sleep...” It wraps long, long arms dripping with darkness around Sam, losing it's form as it goes down, down, and Sam struggles to breathe.

It closes its eyes, and Sam feels peace settle over him. His breath eases, his heart slowing, and slowing... and...

This isn't so bad, is it? Hasn't he done enough? Hasn't he helped, enough?

Why must he go on, why can't he just... sleep...

As the entity falls deeper, and deeper, Sam feels himself giving in, bit by bit. Why fight it? He's so tired.

He's almost fully gone when he feels a familiar brush against his mind. Frightened, female, loving, come back, please – but must he? Can't he just stay?

She needs him. They need him.

The entities hold goes lax, and Sam is pulled back into reality. One moment, nothing. The next, he's sitting up in bed, covers sticky with sweat and hair all in his eyes.

Two pairs of arms pull away from him, and as Sam gathers his wits, hands groping for his glasses, he realizes he's not alone in his room. Someone hands him his glasses and he presses them against his face, blinking a few times to take it all in.

Magda's right beside him, practically crawling into his lap, eyes wide and stained with tears. Beyond her is Castiel, blue eyes finding his own and he lets out a relieved sigh, before falling to the bed with a huff.

“I've known you five days, Sam Winchester, and you've scared me witless twice over.” Castiel shakes his head, sounding oddly fond. “Your heart was stopping.”

“You were slipping away...” Magda sniffs, then gives up all pretense as she launches herself into Sam's arms, shaking lightly as soft, quiet tears fall on his nightshirt.

Sam runs his hand along her back, nods a silent thank you to Castiel, who smiles at him as he stands and heads towards the door. Sam can see Claire and Jack peering in curiously, Jack more worried than Claire, but Claire's biting her lip as she looks at Magda.

Castiel's saying something to them, and Sam hears the door close, but he's only got eyes for his daughter. Now and again, things fly from one end of the room to the other, and dash against the walls. Proof of her upset, though she's quiet as can be as she sobs.

His heart feels heavy. She looks so much like the small, malnourished child Sam had found tied up in a basement, years ago. Believing she was Satan. Well, Sam can see Satan, and he's grinning from the corner.

Sam hates it when Lucifer takes Jess's form. He rarely does it, only when he wants to get a rise out of Sam. Sam won't give him the satisfaction, and refuses to meet his eyes. The asshole laughs just the same.

A hiss comes from underneath the bed, Belle running out, paw raised as she swipes at the off and on hallucination. Sam once again refuses to examine how she can see him when no one else has ever been able to.

Magda's mind, her emotions, her thoughts – they tangle in Sam's head. It's not the gentle brush he's used to, where she subconsciously checks that he's still here, still loves her – which she doesn't mean to do and Sam never calls attention to.

It's a torrent of terror, and Sam breathes deep through his nose to keep from drowning in it.

“Sssh, sssh,” He rocks her back and forth, like he did the first few nights she stayed in his home, before it became theirs. And not just a place Magda existed in, but flourished. “I'm here. It's okay, Magda. It's all gonna be okay.”

It's hours yet before she calms. The night gives in to day, rosy dawn sneaking under his curtains. Sam barely notices.

When he's not trying to comfort his daughter, he's doing his best to ignore the literal devil in his corner. He's had years of practice. Though it worries him more than he cares to admit how active Satan's been lately.

Eventually, Magda pulls away with a sniff, and shakes her hair from her face.

The clock reads 7 am, and though he knows she has exams, Sam opens his mouth to offer her an out.

“Want me to call you in? I know it's almost the last day of school, but... I'm pretty good at wrangling teachers.” It can't be that different from charming professors, or law officers. Sam's not that out of practice.

“Mm mm.” Magda surprises him, shaking her head. “...But, can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

“Sure.” Sam laughs, not arguing one bit, despite it being a Tuesday. “Chocolate chip?”

“And peanut butter.” She nods, sniffling some more. Her hand comes up to rub at her eyes, and she offers Sam a painful smile. “Sorry about...” Magda glances around the room and its chaos.

“No problem. See you in a few minutes?” He eases away from her, and pointedly doesn't look at the corner of his room.

He can hear Belle growling just the same.

“What's up with her?” Magda asks, standing up and heading over to pick her up. Belle goes limp in her arms, but doesn't stop glaring in Lucifer's direction.

“No idea.” It isn't real. It can't be. “Maybe she woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Yeah...” Magda gives him a strange look as she steps into the hall. “Maybe...”

~

Logically, Sam knows he got a good four or five hours of sleep, and he shouldn't be so tired. He tells himself this over and over as he struggles to get ready for the day. He manages to shave, and brush his hair, before deciding: Fuck it.

He heads down to the kitchen in his pajamas. Their guests have been here a few days, and Sam's done with faking like he has his life together. He gets morning breath like everyone else, time they learned. Jack stops him at the bottom of the stairs, wringing his hands together as he looks anywhere but Sam's face.

“Are you... okay?” Jack finally looks up, biting his lip. “I – I mean I know there's nothing I can do, but you really... Sam don't do that again.”

Jack pushes past him, into the kitchen, and Sam sighs. It's been push and pull with Jack, and he can't blame him. Sam... well, he can't relate exactly, he's never known a version of Jack, Claire, or Castiel – but he does have empathy, no matter what his brother says.

He can tell Jack cares for him, wants to get closer to him – but he feels guilty, like he's trying to replace his fallen father figure. Sam doesn't know how to fix it. So he settles on something he's good at: comfort food.

Sam at least pretends to be healthy, though, and pulls out the almond flour and greek yogurt to make the pancakes. It's probably offset by the peanut butter, brown sugar, and chocolate chips, but he's choosing to ignore that.

For today, at least.

Claire and Magda are talking quietly at one end of the table, Claire placing a comforting hand on Magda's wrist. Sam pauses in his mixing for a moment, then shakes his head. It's none of his business – Magda's a good judge of character, being literally physic and all.

Besides that, there's the fact that Elijah is sitting in Claire's lap, kneading against her jeans in a way that must be painful. But Claire says nothing, and Sam finds himself growing fonder of her, despite the way she seems determined to get on his very last nerve each and every day. Like it's a game to her.

Then again, it just might be. Sam gets it – he sought control where he could when he was a troubled teen, too. Magda had been too scared at first to lash out, to test her boundaries, but when she got settled, even she’d pushed some.

So yeah. Sam tries to give her the benefit of the doubt. Keyword being ‘tries’.

As for Jack, he's sitting at the opposite end of the table, Crow in his lap, and the two of them seem to be conversing in low tones. Belle hops in front of him, clearly jealous, and Jack pets her with one hand, the other scratching Crows ears.

Yeah, Sam likes this kid.

“Hey, Dad?” Magda speaks up just as Sam's starting to drop batter on the hot griddle. “Do you think... nevermind. It's stupid.”

“You're not stupid.” It's been awhile since they've had to have a discussion like this, but Sam will repeat it as many times as she needs to hear. “What's up?”

He watches the batter bubble up, spatula in his right hand, as he waits for her to answer.

“Fridays my last day of school, and um... I know we usually order in, but... um. Do you think that instead, Claire and me – err, Claire and I, could like, go to the mall, maybe catch a movie? ...Jack can come too, if he wants.” Magda's flushes, looking everywhere except at Sam.

Oh. Huh. That's a surprise... but.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam sets a short stack of pancakes in front of each of the kids, offering them all a grin. “Just make sure you keep your phone on, and don't stay out too late. ...You can take the truck, if you want.”

He won't deny it hurts, just a bit, that she'd rather spend time with two people she barely knows rather than Sam – but he knows that's not fair. She deserves to hang out with people her own age, and this... is a good thing.

Sam makes two pancakes for himself, then sets aside the dishes for later before sitting down and digging in. He wonders where Castiel is.

But only for a moment, too intent on his pancakes. Satan seems to have stayed up in the bedroom for now, and Sam's going to take the reprieve for what it is.

Sam pulls his fork away from Belle before she can steal a bite, rabidly signing 'No' and 'Bad Cat' at her.

The kids laugh at him, and Sam pretends he doesn't see Jack sneak Crow a bite of butter. It's the fullest his house has ever felt without Dean.

But Sam can't help but feel things would be perfect if his older brother was here too, dogs begging for scraps underneath the table. Ideally, he wonders what it means that his little fantasy includes Castiel, shaking his head fondly from the doorway.

He'll examine that later. Belle's trying for his pancakes once more.

~

Sam's still getting used to life without pain. More than once, he catches himself staring at his open palms, fingers splayed. He's doing it right now, as he sits in the living room, notebook spread out in front of him, tablet next to it.

He moves first his pointer fingers, making his way down to his pinkies. There's no tingle of nerves, not even a struggle. His body obeys him without question.

“Sam?” Jack startles him out of his thoughts, holding a book in front of himself. “Are you alright? ...No, nevermind, of course you're alright, I-”

“Hey. It's okay. I'm fine.” Sam leans back against the couch, and offers Jack a smile. “I just keep forgetting...”

“Forgetting what?” Jack tilts his head to the side. “Did you hit your head – should I get Castiel?”

“No, that's alright. ...I've had arthritis for a long, long time, and now... well.” Sam holds up his hands, and bends them with ease, grinning all the while.

“Oh. ...I suppose that would take some getting used to. ...Sam? Can I ask – what are you doing?”

“Just working on my next book. My publishers are pushing me to make a new series, a trilogy – and I'm not sure what to have it be about. I don't think I ever focused on Rawheads, but that might be too scary. Ah – I tend to focus on young adult fiction.” He shrugs. “A lot of young people like to read, and it sells, so who am I to complain?”

Part of Sam would like to write for hunters straight out, but he knows the series would never get picked up. As if summoned by his thoughts, the phone rings. Sam glances down at it and sighs, recognizing the number.

He doesn't really need to write for hunters, anway. They call him up whenever they need intel. Unfortunately that usually means Bobby had no idea what they were hunting, so they're asking their last resort before flying blind.

“Hey, Jo. Been awhile since we've talked.” Sam flicks the phone open, and stands up to head towards his bookshelves. “Where are you, and what did Bobby rule out? Mmm hmm. Mmm hmm.” Sam tosses first one book, then another onto the table, grimacing as the list of monsters it can't be goes on and on.

“How soon do you need an answer? …That quickly, huh? And it's killed how many people so far? ...Yeah, I'll get on this right away. Tell your mom I said hi.” Jo hangs up before he can, and Sam rolls his eyes as he sits back down, ready to get to work. “You'd think Ellen would teach her some manners...”

Not that he really minds. She reminds him of Dean, in a way. Sam leans forward, and starts to flick through the books. After a few minutes, he lifts his head, and nods his head at Jack, who's watching him intently. Like he wants to say something.

Sam smiles in silent encouragement.

“You know... I could use some help here, if you've got time.” Sam pats the seat beside him, and begins to list off everything Jo told him. Followed by what it couldn't be. “But it's already killed twenty people – the town's in a panic, thinking they've got a serial killer. But Jo found ectoplasm, though it's not acting like any ghost I've ever heard of...”

“Could it be a zombie?” Jack's eyes light up, then he shakes his head, sheepish. “Sorry. I know it's probably not. It's just, I've always wanted to hunt a zombie. Let me see that book?”

Sam hands it to him, and the two of them begin researching in earnest. Sam finds himself answering Jack's many questions – how long has he been building a library, does he consider himself a man of letters – whatever that means – how many hunters he helps, and lastly, how many languages he speaks.

That one's important, because Jack slides a book in front of Sam, around an hour later. He recognizes it as one Bobby gave him, a few years back when Sam was learning Japanese.

“I can't read this, but maybe – the pictures look like some kind of ghost...”

“A Buruburu?” Sam skims the pages, grinning as he pulls up his tablet and types in a few words. Moments, later, he tugs Jack into a hug. “Yes! So get this – about a decade ago, a woman died in a terrible manner – but it all seems hushed up. All the victims were sick before they died, which is why the police keep questioning doctors, but – if they'd caught a kind of ghost sickness... it tracks! Jack, you're a genius!”

Jack takes the praise with a sheepish smile and a slight blush on his face. He leans into the hug, pressing his head under Sam's chin. Sam doesn't mind when he lingers, only pats him on the back, and tosses him the phone when Jack finally pulls away.

“Here. I've got a job for you – dial the most recent call, tell them you're with me, and what we've found.”

“You really trust me with this?” Jack fidgets, looking down at the phone with something Sam can't quite name in his eyes.

“Yeah. If Ellen picks up, she'll give you a hard time, but she'll like you. Jo will probably respond better to you than me, anyway. She's got some kind of grudge against me.” Sam understands, as she started hunting with Dean back when the two of them were on the outs. “And kid, you've earned it. This was your find. Take the praise.”

Sam gets to his feet, and heads up the stairs to give Jack the illusion of privacy. His heart swells with pride as Jack recounts the information they'd found. And from the way he's responding to the person on the phone, he figures Ellen picked up.

Good. Jack could use some mothering.

Sam opens the door to his room, but pauses as something catches the corner of his eye. Castiel's leaning on the wall, head cocked to one side as he watches Sam.

For his part, Sam raises his hand in greeting, and Castiel looks away. He tries not to sigh. He can't blame Castiel if he doesn't want to be friends, if being around Sam hurts too much – but this whole hot and cold dance is getting old.

Glancing at his clock, Sam sees he has about an hour until Magda gets home from school. An idea forms in his head, and he heads back downstairs, offering Jack a nod. Jack seems a little overwhelmed, but in a good way, and barely acknowledges Sam as he recounts more information to Ellen on the phone.

Claire, Claire, Claire – where could she be?

With that in mind, Sam steps outside, and walks into the woods on a whim. It wasn't that long ago he was an angry young adult himself, no matter how much Magda teases him about being old. And, sure enough, within ten minutes he finds Claire.

She's sitting on a stump, an ax in her hands. Beside her Sam can see a small collection of freshly chopped firewood.

“You know, I don't think we'll need much more this year. But thank you.”

Claire stands up, and grabs another log, setting it down on the stump. With a swing of her ax and her anger, it soon splits in half. She pants for a moment, leaning against the wooden handle, before raising it again.

Sam glances back at the pile of wood.

“Been at this a couple hours, then?” He asks, taking a seat on the ground nearby.

Claire only grunts in response, but she does fall back on to her butt next to him after breaking another log. She's sweaty, her short blond hair sticking to her face. She closes her eyes, and Sam tries to decide how to approach this.

In the end, the only thing he can do is go for it.

“So... have you put any thought into the future?”

“Really?! I’ve been here less than a week. If you're that eager to get rid of me, I'll grab my bags. Oh, wait, I don't have any.”

“I didn't mean it like that. Stay as long as you like – or need.” Sam scoots closer, but doesn't touch her. He brings his long legs up to his chest, and lays his head down on them with a sigh. “And you don't have to earn your keep, either. ...I've never been possessed, but. I've lost a lot of my life to illness. I know it's not the same, but. I empathize.”

Sam shrugs, and Claire remains silent. He fights the urge to sigh again. She's not a teenager, but from what Sam's gathered, it's not like she had a chance to live her teenage years. That and she's certainly acting like one, right now.

He tells himself to calm down. If memory serves him correctly, Sam was twice as angry with less reason at her age. He takes a deep breath, and continues on.

“I only meant to offer a few suggestions. I can make you a new identity, Jack too. But you'll need some skills, I'll teach what I can, but maybe you should look into getting your GED this fall? Or I can put in a good word with my Uncle Bobby. He's... gruff but if you work hard he'll hire you.”

And bitch to Sam about her the entire time, he's sure. It’s how Bobby shows he cares.

Claire stands up slowly, and brushes sawdust from her clothes. She studies Sam for a moment, then nods, determination filling her features.

“You don't have to decide now. Why don't you spend the summer figuring out what you need to do? For yourself, I mean. ...If sharing with Magda's getting to be too much, I can clear out a space for you in the basement, or-”

“No. It's – it's fine. I like Magda, she's nice.” Claire cuts him off, shaking her head. She's still hiding behind her hair, but she's looking at Sam as she speaks. He'll count it as progress. “She doesn't make me explain things.”

Sam nods. They lapse back into silence for a moment, before he chuckles nervously. “Not like me, huh?”

“Eh. You're alright.”

“Well, thanks. I try.”

“Dork.” Claire shakes her head again, and starts back towards the house. Sam watches her go with a sense of fondness in his chest.

Then as he turns back to the firewood, a hint of annoyance. Damn it, he's going to have to carry all this back by himself so it doesn't get rained on.

As quick as it came, the annoyance is gone, replaced with a sense of wonder as Sam realizes he **can** carry it all back by himself. Sure, he knows he'll be a little sore tomorrow, no longer used to vigorous exercise, but he'll still be **able** to.

It's a good thing Sam lives in the woods. He must look like a madman, laughing as he piles wood into a wheelbarrow.

The sun is high in the sky, feeling more like the approaching summer than a cool spring. Sam turns his gaze upwards, and basks in it.

He unloads one pile of firewood, stacks it with the rest, against the shed, and turns back to get the remainder. Castiel steps out from behind a tree, and begins to walk with him in silence.

Sam smiles at him, and tries not to be hurt when he doesn't get one back. They fall into step beside each other, and as Sam begins to load up the wheelbarrow once more, Castiel helps.

He's trying to think of something to say, some way to pull Castiel out of his shell when the angel beats him to it.

“You're good with them.” Castiel nods towards the house. “With Claire and Jack... and Magda, too. I never got to see ...my Sam with many children, usually it was his brother who... but you're. You. It's like you know just what to say.”

Sam has to laugh, and laugh, folding in on himself at the absurdity of it all.

“Me? Good with kids? No, not really Castiel.” Sam pulls himself back up to his full height, and wipes at his eyes. “I never know what to say, what to do. I just... go on instinct, I suppose. But I've failed plenty of times, especially with Magda, at the beginning... and Cas – err, Castiel, you're not that bad with them yourself.”

“Claire and Jack barely talked to me until we got here. ...You can call me Cas, if you want. I would like that.”

“But they did talk to you. More than that – I can tell Claire feels safe around you. Yes, I know, Angel possession.” And that did – does make Sam uncomfortable, he won't deny it. But at least Castiel's host is dead. As well as attractive... Does this make Sam a necrophiliac? He shudders, pushing the thought deep down.

Castiel isn't interested in him, anyway. Sam's just a reminder of his dead friend.

“I know you think she looks at you and sees her father, but... Cas, you're more than that. She was mad at me, for your sake. And she last met the guy what, ten years ago? I'd be surprised if he even looked like you do, now.”

Sam pauses, a few fleeting images coming to him. He squints at Castiel. His hair is spiked up, and his tie is striped, and – but the images fade once more. Why Sam was so sure he knew what Castiel – or rather, Claire's father – used to look like, Sam doesn't know.

Castiel is squinting back at him. Sam shrugs, and throws a final piece of wood into the wheelbarrow.

“Look... if you can't see how much Jack adores you, then I'm sorry, but you're blind.”

“I have more eyes than you might think... but you're right, I suppose. They do care for me, in their own ways... and yet, less than a week here and you've talked to them more than I have.”

“Don't beat yourself up, Cas.” Sam reaches out, and squeezes his shoulder. “I wouldn't blame you if you hated me, but – I'd like to be friends. I just... feel like I know you, somehow. But I don't, and I want to. You seem like the kind of guy who always tries to do the right thing.”

“Isn't it a human saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?” Castiel pauses, and licks at his lips. Sam finds his gaze drawn to that pink tongue. “Not that it's paved at all. There's more fire and screaming than pavement.”

“Right. Okay. Either way, Cas – the point is you try. That matters more than you think. ...Back when I first got Magda, I... she'd alternate between clinging to me and hiding. I lived in fear that she'd run away, and I'd never find her. ...These things take time, is what I'm saying. You care. That's the first step.”

Pulling away, Sam turns back towards the wheelbarrow, and hikes it up to begin the journey back to the shed. Idly, he thinks about how many summer bonfires they'll need to use this up, when Castiel speaks again.

“Sam? May I ask you one more question?”

“Sure, Cas.” He starts back, trusting Castiel will follow. Sam can feel his muscles straining already, and is torn between frustration and glee. It's been such little exercise, but he never would have been able to do this just last week, depending on Dean's infrequent visits to stock up on firewood.

“When I was healing you, I noticed a few... differences. There are surgical scars on your chest, and...”

“Ah.” Sam pauses, knowing what this is about. He's come out, over and over again through the years, and somehow it's never gotten any easier.

“I'm not... I'm just... confused?”

“I'm transgender.” Sam sets the wheelbarrow down, and turns to face Cas. He starts to fold his arms over his chest, then stops. There's no need to be defensive, not yet anyway. He **just** told Castiel he wants to be friends. He can trust in Castiel a little bit. “That means... well. I was born a girl, but I don't feel like one, so I take hormones and had my breasts removed. That's what the scars are from. I’m a man, and I-”

“Oh. I see.” Castiel's face lights up, even as he interrupts him. “I didn't know that's what it's called now. Trans, latin, beyond, or across genders. Clever. I like it.”

“You're... not mad?” Sam feels the need to sit, and his legs start to wobble, when Castiel steps forward, righting him. Sam looks down into those blue eyes, so confused, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Why would I be mad?” Castiel pulls away once Sam is steady, and shakes his head. “Do you think you're the first person to ever feel that way? There have been many like you throughout history, though the terminology has changed. I myself... before Jimmy, I only took female vessels.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, now. Somber and sad.

“Angels don't have gender the same way you humans do. I know my brothers and sisters... some of them prefer vessels of one or the other; and some flit between with no care... I never cared, despite my preference for female vessels, but I've come to think of myself as male, ever since I...”

“You really beat yourself up a lot, Cas.”

“If you had failed as much and as many people as I have, you would too.”

Sam can't stop himself from hugging Castiel this time. He knows he's sweaty, and covered in woodshavings, and not the Sam Cas really wants. But he's the one who's here. So he hugs him tight, as tight as he can.

“Don't you think it's about time you forgive yourself?”

“I'm... not sure I can.”

“Then I will. I forgive you, Cas.”

“You... you can't, you don't know what all I've done, what I've had to do.”

“Doesn't matter. Still forgive you.”

If Castiel trembles in his grip, Sam chooses not to draw attention to it. They stay like that for some time, the wind swirling around them. Sam's fingers go numb, and he feels pins and needles shooting through his legs.

But something tells him Castiel hasn't had much comfort through the years. So he'll deal with the pain. It's never mattered to Sam, not when it comes to the people he loves.

And he could truly love Castiel. He thinks he's halfway there already.

~

The next afternoon, Sam tosses the truck keys to Magda as soon as she gets home, knowing she'll be impatient to leave. He follows it up with a couple of twenties, and laughs as she launches herself at him with a squeal.

Soon enough, Magda's letting go, and tugging Claire along to the truck. Jack seems uncertain, until Sam nods at him, and he follows after the two girls.

“Poor kid. He is definitely third wheeling.” Sam shakes his head, and turns towards Castiel as the truck heads off. Castiel cocks his head at him in confusion.

“I will never understand human phrases, no matter how long I walk the earth. A third wheel is a good thing. Vehicles with only two are incredibly unstable and prone to tipping. Why that became the chosen vernacular for intruding on a date, I will never understand. ...it’s not a date, is it?”

Sam has to laugh at that, too amused to answer. At least Castiel doesn't look offended.

A half hour later, Sam looks at the clock. It's only five, and Magda technically doesn't have to follow curfew anymore, being newly eighteen. He's not sure if Jack does, either, but that's an issue he could spend hours pondering.

It's going to be a long night if he just sits and watches the clock. So he pulls himself to his feet, and heads towards the door.

“Sam?” Castiel asks, curious. “Where are you going?”

“The kids took the truck for their date, and insurance still hasn't gotten back to me about my 'stolen' car, so I thought that maybe...”

And hadn't that been a trip? Having actual insurance, health and otherwise. Sometimes Sam feels like going to hustle pool just for the memories alone.

“Ah. So it is a date then, I had wondered.”

“Well, I don't know for sure, and with Jack there... but anyway... Maybe we could-” Sam flounders, unsure how to ask. Just because his feelings for Castiel are edging more and more into crush territory doesn't mean Castiel owes him anything.

Their friendship is new, and tenuous, and Sam's afraid that one false move will shatter it.

“It wouldn't be a date, of course, I just... there's some good hiking trails in the woods, maybe we could have a picnic or something? As friends.” Because clearly that first and last part needed to be said. Sometimes Sam wants to smack himself.

He bites at his lip and catches all three cats watching him from the top of the stairs. Their gazes feel incredibly judging. More so than normal.

Or perhaps, and this is much more likely, they want dinner.

“Once again I must remind you that I don't eat.”

Sam's face falls, and he opens his mouth to apologize, when Castiel turns to smile at him.

“But that sounds like fun. I have noticed you are far too thin.” Castiel heads towards the kitchen, practically pouting as he opens cupboards and cabinets. “My Sam was always concerned about his health as well, but you take it to an extreme.”

As if to make a point, Cas lays out bags of almond flour, kale chips, and chia seeds. He raises an eyebrow as he spreads his arms wide.

“Don't knock it. They taste better than they look.”

“Hmm.” Castiel doesn't sound so sure, but he begins to make a couple of sandwiches from Sam's spread.

Suddenly Sam feels very small and uncertain, and he has to ask something he's not sure he wants to know the answer to. But it'll drive him mad if he doesn't.

“Hey Cas? Can I ask you a question?” Castiel nods, to show he's listening, and Sam takes a deep gulp of air that seems to burn. Or maybe that's the heat of his face. “When you say 'My Sam'.... were you two... I only got a vision of him, once, but... I could tell he really loved you...”

“Ah.” Castiel closes his eyes, and grips the counter. Sam starts to wonder if he's made a mistake, and overstepped his boundaries, when Castiel turns to him, a pained smile on his face. “You're asking if we were together? ...No. I did love him, and I think I might have been in love with him. ...Perhaps he felt the same for me, but there was never time. We bounced from one apocalypse to another, trying to fix a world we'd broken. ...Myself more than Sam, though I’m sure he’d argue the opposite.”

“I'm sorry.” What else can he really say? “Not that that... means anything.”

“It means more than you know... Can I... ask what you saw?”

Sam steps forward, and squeezes Castiel's shoulder. He's not sure he has fond feelings of his alternate self, with how confused Castiel looks every time Sam touches him, and how rabbit frightened Jack can be of him. But that's not fair, and he knows it. He could tell Sam, the other one, was a hero.

Far more than he himself could ever be.

“Well...” Sam starts, and closes his eyes, trying to remember. “A lot of things slipped away from me when I woke up. But mostly, he was worried for Jack... I remember feeling an intense need to save him, then dying... and he was worried about you, when he died... and then there was a... well, the grim reaper, I think?”

“A reaper? Did she have dark skin and wear a black leather jacket?”

“That sounds about right.”

Castiel takes a shuddering breath, and Sam steps forward, wanting to hold him again, but Castiel moves to lean against the counter.

“I thought as much... I was just too cowardly to find out for myself...”

“Uh... Cas... I know... from what little you've said, Heaven isn't that great a place-” And isn't that a bitter pill to swallow? Sam's prayed all his life, still prays, despite everything – but to hear it, maybe he'd be better off not. And yet he can't make himself stop. “But Sam seemed happy to go there, with Dean. He was just worried about you, and Jack. But he knew you'd take care of him.”

Maybe Sam's embellishing a little, but he doesn't think so. He knows himself, and while he's only known Jack a few days, he's grown fond of the kid. As well as Castiel, and he'll give his other self this much: He left Jack to the right person.

“...Heaven?” Castiel turns back towards him, and he looks like he's almost afraid to hope.

“Sam seemed surprised too.” He shrugs, fighting to keep from bringing his arms up around his chest. He won't appear weak, not now, Cas needs him. “I don't remember much of what they said, it's kinda hazy. But she seemed sort of... fond?”

Castiel leans back against the counter, and lets out a deep sigh. Sam can tell it's relieved, though he doesn't know what for.

“...Where... your Winchesters that bad?” He's not sure he wants to know. Sam's made his peace with going to Hell when he dies, but...

“Both Dean and Sam had been to Hell, yes-” Castiel frowns when Sam does, and he steps forward, into his space. He shakes his head before continuing on. “You misunderstand. Neither of them deserved it – Dean only went because it was fate. He made a deal with a demon to bring Sam back to life, and Sam... he jumped in willingly, when Lucifer possessed him. He fought the devil and won.”

Castiel smiles fondly, if a touch sadly as he shakes his head. Then he looks back at Sam, clearly confused.

“I was so proud of him, and sad. I think... that's when I first started to fall in love with him, and I... brought him back, as I had his brother before him. But for myself, though I did it wrong...”

Sam sits down at the table, and motions for Castiel to go on. He has a feeling they're not going to get the hike and dinner date he had planned.

Not that it would have been an actual date, much as he'd like that.

Raising his hand to his eyes, Castiel wipes away tears and continues. Over the next few hours, Sam learns more about The Winchesters of the other world. As well as the angel he'd like to call his own.

When Castiel's finished, his head tilted towards the ceiling, as if Heaven can give him answers, Sam joins him. From what Castiel spoke of, gaining an audience up there when he first arrived... Sam doubts either of them will find what they seek.

But they can't stop searching.

~

The sky turns dark, and Sam packs away the sandwiches for another time. Castiel makes no move to stop him, still facing the ceiling with a faraway look in his eyes. Not that Sam can blame him. It was heavy stuff.

He's amazed at how easily it could have happened to him, if not for his split second decision to shoot Azazel in John's body. Sam can't say he regrets it. But when he looks back at Castiel, he has to wonder.

Did he make the right choice? Then he looks around his home, the home he's built over the years; out of blood, sweat, and many many tears. He thinks of Magda, of the cats. It’s an odd little home, but his home nonetheless.

He can't change the past, and maybe he wouldn't.

The universe is filled with endless possibilities, and Sam could torture himself over each and every one. But he won't. He tortures himself enough as it is.

And speaking of torture...

“Cas?” Sam places his hand on the angel's shoulder, though he's loath to bother him. “There's one other thing I didn't mention.”

Castiel slowly lowers his gaze, until his eyes meet Sams. He says nothing, too worn out from the past few hours. Sam can relate.

“The vision I had, the night before last... when I ah... almost died?”

Castiel nods, and Sam takes a deep breath. Now or never, Winchester.

“It was about your Empty. Err, The Empty... I don't know how, but I saw it, and it saw me, and … it was so angry, Castiel... it tried to drag me down with it when it fell back asleep. But it **is** asleep, I know that much. It's safe for you to go home.”

“Even if it is, with no Archangel grace, we're stuck here until Jack regains his full power. Which will be a long, long time.”

If it ever happens remains unsaid, heavy in the air between them. It's not fair. It's not. Castiel might hold a lot of guilt, and yes, blame for how his universe ended up – but from how Sam understands it, and what he felt in that vision, when he was that other Sam... no.

What Sam himself feels now. All his own emotions, and it's time he owns up to it.

“Maybe that's not the only way. I don't know if you've noticed, Castiel... but I've got a lot of books, and more than that – a community of hunters behind me. Maybe I don't have a bunker, maybe I'm not a man of letters... and I'm not your Sam. I wish to God – no. Not the best idea, right? I just... wish that I could be. But I'm not, and you deserve to go home. I know a lot of witches. A lot. Most of them owe me favors for not killing them – or letting Dean kill them, whatever.”

Sam shrugs, and rolls his shoulders as he gathers the rest of his thoughts.

“Point is, I'll help you get home. However I can, no matter what it takes. That's a Winchester promise, and I think you know we're good at keeping those, no matter the universe.”

Castiel's looking at him with wonder, and Sam takes a step back, sheepish. He wants to bask in the feeling, no matter how much it hurts to be letting Cas go, despite never owning him in the first place. Castiel steps forward, following him, when -

_”Do you really think it's that easy? Sam, you heard the nice angel. You're mine, no matter the universe.”_

Claws, raking over him, made of light. It's so, so bright, unrelenting like a solar eclipse. Sam feels himself fall to the floor screaming, but his bodies far, far away, and growing ever further as the vision takes hold of him.

_”Sam? Sam?! What’s happening, what’s wrong - Sam?!”_

Despite the burning light all around, Sam feels cold down to his bones. When he examines his fingers, he sees frost growing over the tips. The digits begin to blacken, and Sam is filled with pain worse than his worst days in the hospital.

His bodies being shaken, he can gather that much, someone is calling his name. But he's not there, not – was he in his kitchen? It's so hard to think.

All around him is bone. Bits of meat stick to it, the marrow seeping out as bone interweaves together. Like the bars of a cage.

At that thought, hollow, familiar laughter echoes all around him. Sam doesn't need to turn to know who's behind him, but he does.

He can't see clearly at first for the pain, eyes burning so badly he almost swears he can feel them melting. Blood drip-drips down his face, and mixes with the rest of the gore. Then the light slowly dims, and clears into a familiar form. The devil takes Sam's own shape, and his features frighten him as he's met with a grin.

It's nothing like the face that greets him in the mirror each morning. And yet, that's all Sam can see.

“One way or another, the worlds going to end, Sam. And you're going to be the one to do it. That angel thinks he's safe here? Ha. He's run from one sinking ship to another. There are other ways out of this cage, and you know it. I'll find them, even if it takes me the rest of your pathetic little lifespan. Or beyond.”

Sam's never been so terrified. His voice stays trapped in his throat, and he wants nothing more than to look away as the devil walks closer and closer until they're nose to nose. His breath is hot on Sam's face, and his laughter pierces his eardrums like thunder.

“You know you're not as strong as that other Sam Winchester. Lucky me, too, but I’ll take it.”

It's true. Sam can't deny it. He's been out of the game for too long, and he's never had to face those hardships. The Devil has been wearing him down for years upon years, over a decade now. Sam... Sam almost wants to ask him to take him over now, just to make it, make this vision stop.

Then Lucifer says something that makes Sam's blood run cold.

“I really should thank him. I'd almost given up, content to torment you for the rest of your life. Then he goes and brings me a gift.”

Wait.

“Jack's what you're after?” It makes too much sense. Even without his grace, Jack was Lucifer's son in another universe. The potential of his blood alone... Sam can think of several spells it could be used for. He's sure Satan can think of even more, and any number of them must be enough to set him free.

This Lucifer has never lost his power, he doesn't need Jack's. And there are no Archangel blades here.

“You're not getting Jack.” More than that, Sam grits his teeth, and shoves the Devil away from him. “You're not getting Magda, either. Or Claire. Or Cas, or Dean, or anyone I love. I won't let you. I'll never say yes, and I'm keeping Jack far, far away from you.”

“I'd like to see you try.” Lucifer snorts, and Sam's about had it.

He's raising his hand before he can stop himself, balling it up and the crunch of fist against bone echoes throughout the cage. Followed up by Sam's panting breath.

Lucifer stares at him, eyes wide, then he starts to laugh.

“Oh you've really done it now boy-” He steps forward, and -

_“Please, I know you have no reason to hear me. I know I'm not one of your creations. But please, bring him back to me. I can't lose Sam. Not again.”_

Sam's eyes open up. Everything hurts, his vision swims, yet he's slowly coming back to rights. He's being held in someone's arms, and they're talking – Sam feels warm, as his pain starts to recede then stops.

Castiel.

He's sitting on the floor, his arms are wrapped around Sam, and he's smiling down at him as tears fall from his eyes down onto Sam's face. One hand is against Sam's chest, faintly glowing.

“St...” Sam's tongue tastes of copper, it's fat in his mouth, and he struggles to swallow down blood so he can talk. Everything's a faint red hue, and he knows he's burst a vessel in his eyes again. “Stop.. you don't have enough gr-grace...”

“I'd give it all to heal you. Don't – don't that again Sam.” Castiel brings him close, and if he shakes while holding Sam, again Sam doesn't mention it.

“Well.” A voice cuts in, and Sam hears three tiny growls from underneath the table. “Isn't this just so touching?”

Sam doesn't want to, but he glares towards the corner of the room. Still taking his own form, Satan claps, and offers him a bow.

“I'm impressed. Not many people can escape me when I've grabbed hold.”

The growls from under the table grow louder, and Sam can see three pairs of flashing eyes, two yellow, two blue, and one solitary green. Lucifer kneels down next to the table, and peers under in disgust.

“You know, Sam, I don't think your kitties much like me.” He laughs. “I wonder why.”

“Sam... What's going on?” Castiel's voice brings Sam out of it, but only a little.

He can still see Satan out of the corner of his eye, no matter how much he wishes otherwise. Castiel looks back and forth between Sam and the cats, brows pressing together as he tries to understand what he cannot see.

Belle races forward, full of bravery, and launches herself at Lucifer. He only laughs, stepping out of the way.

“Not actually here, kitty cat. You can't hurt me~” He sing songs, then mimes wringing her neck. “But one day, when I get topside? I'm going to take care of you, mark my words.”

Crow is next, swiping at Lucifer's ankles, while Elijah growls low and deep in his throat. Castiel's struggling to understand, and Sam laughs himself. There's no denying it, not anymore.

“It's okay, Cas. It's just my old friend the Devil...”

“I… what?”

“He's not actually here.” Sam closes his eyes. “But I've been seeing him, off and on, ever since the hospital... he's been appearing more frequently as of late, and now I know why. ...Remember what I said when we first met? How all of you are in danger? I saw him, right above you... and I've delivered you right to him.”

Sam has to laugh again. It's broken, and bitter to his own ears. Here he'd thought he was so noble.

“You have to leave, as soon as you can. Jack's not safe, not as long as Lucifer’s alive... or I am...”

“And leave you to deal with Satan himself?” Castiel draws himself up, and marches to the kitchen cabinet. He takes out a knife, and cuts into his palms. Sam starts to ask what he's doing, then it becomes apparent as Castiel draws sigils all along the walls.

“That won't work for long, you know.” Lucifer drawls, already fading. “But you've won this round. Don't go thinking this is over. Not by a long shot.”

Sam shivers, and he doesn't push the cats away as one by one they crawl into his lap. Elijah too, purring louder than Belle, deaf as she is. Despite the added body heat, Sam feels as if he'll never be warm again.

Castiel drops down to his knees in front of Sam. Sam's confused for all of a moment, before he's drawn into a hug. The cats protest, but don't leave his lap. Not even Elijah.

“I'm sorry I didn't know... I'm out of tune with this world's angels, if I was only at full power...” Castiel pulls back, and looks Sam in the eyes. “Sam. You must tell me everything. Absolutely everything.”

“But we need to get you – get Jack home.”

“Not without saving you first.”


	6. Chapter 6

“What am I going to do?” Castiel sinks back on to the couch, and closes his eyes. A soft purr sounds next to his ear, and tiny pin pricks of pain settle against his shoulder. Whiskers brush against his cheek, and he knows without looking that it's one of Sam's cats. “And that's another thing... you all.”

Opening his eyes, he's not surprised to see three cats looking at him. The black one, Crow, is uncomfortably close, but Castiel doesn't have the heart to shoo him away. Not when Crow is rubbing up against him, offering comfort the only way he knows how.

Which is very, very clumsily. As well as very, very wet, drool dripping down from his snaggle tooth to settle on Castiel's tie. He reaches up and scratches the cat behind the ears, and receives even more drool for his kindness.

“Don't get me wrong.” He addresses the cats, letting his grace brush their minds. “I've always liked cats. It's just... Sam's a dog person. I know he is.” He cocks his head as the rugged one, Elijah, sends him a memory.

Talking to animals can be very soothing. Their minds are often, but not always... simpler, in a way. Which doesn't mean they're stupid, Castiel has met many animals wiser than humans. They just. Have clear goals, comforts, and don't dance around the subject like humans are known to do.

He spent much of his time after taking Sam's madness conversing with them. They have different ways of replying – some think in pictures, some speak in clear sentences, and others. Well. He looks at Belle, and knows without a doubt she can't hear him, nor her feline companions, but she can read body language just fine.

She's sharing a memory, and it's blurry, but – she's very cold, and sad, having been dropped on the side of the road. A very large dog is chasing her, and she’s so very scared. As well as weak, having not been fed in a long time. The dog looks worse than a monster in her memory, all snarling teeth and dripping fangs. Suddenly Sam is there, and he's waving his arms at the dog, telling it to get.

Even from a cat's eye view Castiel can tell Sam is in pain. Sore, his limbs shaking as he draws himself to his full height. But the dog is frightened, and runs off. Leaving Belle to her lonesome, and she's so, so terrified of the tall man at first... then he offers food, and...

How could she not fling herself at the tormentor which showed up a month later? Someone, hurting **her** friend? No. Absolutely not. 

Crow is even simpler, having arrived half torn apart, with Elijah staring at him in bewilderment, telling him he looks a fool. Sam equals food and warmth and safety, so of course Sam is good and smells nice and the other does not bad bad hiiiisss.

“I... don't think there's a need for such language, Crow.” 

Crow spits again for good measure, before hopping down from Castiel's shoulder. He sighs as he sees Crow's claws left a few tears, but Crow is pattering up the stairs to check on his nice smelling friend before Castiel can scold him.

Not that it will do much good. One of the reasons Castiel likes cats is they just... don't care, to a degree. They are capable of great, great love; but on their own terms. 

Castiel will always love deeply and foolishly. He won't pretend to be anything else.

Sometimes, though. He admires cats, and wonders what it would be like to not care.

Belle follows after Crow, until only Castiel and Elijah are left. Elijah tilts his head to the side, studying Castiel, then slowly blinks at Castiel.

He has always been here for Magda primarily. He much, much prefers women. Castiel is a stranger, and has brought **yet another** man into the household. 

But Elijah protects what's his, and Sam is very much his. Mostly because Sam is Magda’s, and Magda is Elijah’s to protect. But still, his. 

Unfortunately, Castiel is slowly falling under that umbrella as well. 

“That's nice and all, Elijah,” Castiel nods his head, and he isn't lying. He does feel honored to be considered family by the former street cat, no matter how 'spoiled' he is now. “But that doesn't answer my question... what am I supposed to do?”

He draws himself to his feet, and paces around the room. He tugs at his hair, feels his wings stretch out behind him, though not materialize, aching as scenario after scenario runs through his head.

“Sam's been seeing the Devil for years. Years. And he's told no one except three **cats**! Not even his daughter, another psychic!”

Elijah grumbles to show his displeasure, and Castiel sighs.

“Yes, yes, I know, you've helped where you could and it is **Literal Satan** but... still, you're cats.”

That doesn't seem to make Elijah forgive him, but he deigns to lick his paw as he watches Castiel wear a hole in the carpet.

“Sam says at first he only saw him sometimes, in the corner of his eye, or in nightmares, and chalked it to just that – PTSD, residual visions after getting out of the game... then Lucifer started coming more and more, staying for months at a time when he took in Magda...”

Elijah growls at this. He very clearly remembers, having noticed the foul smelling apparition shortly after Magda had brought him in from the cold, tempted by tuna and shredded cheese. Castiel pauses, raising a brow at him. Elijah cocks his head. It's not like he can be blamed for being susceptible to dairy products.

“...I. Right, whatever. Your culinary preferences aside, he told me..” And Castiel shudders, recalling the way Sam had broken down at the memory – “That Lucifer thought it great fun, Sam seeing him, all the time, but then taking in a kid who thought she was the Devil...”

A growl even more offended than the first leaves Elijah, and he puffs up in memory. It's a good thing Magda's parents are dead and gone, or he'd have choice words with them. Castiel has no doubt about it, either. Elijah's fangs and claws shine in the dim lighting of the living room.

“Sam suffered for years, telling no one... and then I ran away, came here, bringing his son with me... to a place where the Devil's already awake, and furious about his plans being thwarted again and again...” Castiel flops back against the couch. “I should never have trusted Rowena...”

No, that's not true. 

“I should never have trusted **myself**. Have I done a single thing, had a single plan, that hasn't backfired spectacularly? Now, Jack's in danger, again, and... if we leave...” Castiel brings his hands to his head, and shudders. “I don't even want to think of how bad the visions will get... what Lucifer will do to Sam then...”

He feels a weight hop into his lap, and settle there. 

“Yes, I know. You three have done a fine job protecting him... but... Sam's having seizures, now, he's bleeding so much... if he'd crashed into anyone else, he would have died. And I'm still not back up to full power after healing him...” And his 'full power' is so much less than it once was. “I don't even know how much my grace will regenerate, when I'm so out of sync with Heaven, here...”

Elijah settles further on Castiel's lap, and Castiel brings his hands down to stroke the grizzled fur. The purring Elijah settles into is as rough as everything else about the cat, yet still Castiel finds himself relaxing.

“Thank you. I just... don't know what to do.” Castiel stokes behind Elijah's ears and considers his options. “I don't doubt Sam could find a way to get us back home, no matter the cost... and that scares me. Nothing is too high a price for a Winchester to pay when their loved ones are in danger, but... I've already broken one universe... I can't break another.”

It seems to Elijah that Castiel cares rather a lot about someone he's just met.

“Of course I do. He's... he's not my Sam, but he's still so – Sam. I think I've been in love with him for as long as I can remember... and this one is different, of course – he's been beaten down by life in his own way,” And yet he's never been to hell. Never been possessed. “But he's so sarcastic at times, and caring, and intelligent, and...”

Castiel looks out the window towards the sky. He knows Sam and Dean, and so many of his friends and family don't reside in any Heaven he can reach, not anymore. But he cannot fight the instinct to look up when he thinks of them.

It’s very human of him. He realizes that. For once, he doesn’t care.

“I hope Sam... the one I consider a brother, will forgive me... but I think... no, I know I love this Sam, too.” Castiel sighs. He knows he can never act on it, Sam will only see him as a wounded puppy, trying to cling to something he's already lost. Or, he mentally amends as he looks down at the purring cat in his lap, a lost kitten.

The dog person with three cats will never make sense to him, but he’ll amend his metaphor just the same.

“I don't... I don't know what to do.”

Elijah blinks at him a few times. He's not sure what Castiel is asking him for. He is, after all, a cat.

Castiel sighs, and settles back into the couch even more, eyes closing. It's as close to peace as he can get, lately.

As the clock chimes midnight, his eyes flash open and he jumps to his feet. Elijah gives a hiss of displeasure and rushes up the stairs to go hide under Magda's bed. Things make sense there.

Jack, Claire, Magda – they were all supposed to be back by eleven at the latest. The phone hasn't rang once. 

~ 

There is nothing Castiel wants to do less than wake up Sam. After Sam listened to him for hours, then suffered under Lucifer's hands, before pouring out his own heart and woes for hours more. Castiel had been tempted to calm Sam into slumber with a little grace, but Sam had fallen asleep shortly after he'd finished his long, long tale.

Indeed, as Castiel climbs the stairs to wake him, he's set upon by three glaring cats. He sighs, and tugs at his hair, shaking his head as he opens the door.

“I know, I know. I don't want to do this, but I'm lost and I haven't gotten a phone that works yet.” Which he is going to fix, and soon. Claire and Jack weren't under his wings anymore, so he needed some way to keep them safe. “Sam?”

Soft cries answered him, and Castiel feels his heart break as he enters the room. Sam's asleep, yes, but he's tossing and turning, and now and again Castiel can hear him crying out Lucifer's name. With a growl, Castiel stalks forward.

He was an idiot to not ward the bedroom, too.

“Sam? Sam, please wake up. He can't hurt you, he doesn't have that much power-” Castiel hopes. Lucifer's locked away, and the astral projection frightens him, but that's all it is. Sam being Lucifer's true vessel links them in ways Castiel doesn't like to think about. “He can frighten you,” to put it lightly, “But you hold the power in your mind. Wake. Up.”

He doesn't have enough grace to enter Sam's dreams. No matter how much he wants to help him fight back. So he settles for whispering encouragement as he shakes him, in between stroking his hair.

Why does every universe insist on torturing Sam Winchester? Hasn't he suffered enough?

If Castiel ever meets Chuck again, he is going to punch him. Being smote directly after will be well worth it. Bad enough he's let down all of creation, but Castiel draws the line at hurting his friends. His family.

“Sam, please, Claire and the others aren't back yet and I don't know what to do!” He's so tired of saying those words. He's so tired of being powerless. “It's past midnight and-”

Sam grunts, eyes coming open, though he squints and hisses soon after, his hands groping over his bedside table. Castiel reaches over, and hands him his glasses. Sam rubs his eyes before slipping them on his face, but he still blinks owlishly at Castiel for several minutes. Then it seems to hit him all at once what has just been said.

“It's – what time? Oh fuck sore...” Sam winces, struggling to get out of bed until Castiel helps him into a leaning position against the wall as Sam pulls on his pants and shirt. The shoes are too much in his sleep addled state, so he forgoes them, and begins to stumble down the stairs, phone in hand. 

Castiel waits, biting his lip, as the first call goes to voicemail. Sam's awake enough once he's at the door to step into his slippers, and he's on his third call. With a sigh, Sam fiddles with the phone.

“Well, she's not answering, but her phone’s GPS says she's not too far from here. God damn it, I really wish insurance would get back to me about my car. This is why I keep two,” Sam grumbles the rest, growing more profane with each word. He almost slams the door on Castiel in his haste to leave the house, and only offers a sheepish smile as apology. “GPS isn't 100% accurate, but it's all we have, so... let's go.”

“Are you sure you should be walking?” Castiel takes a glance at Sam's choice in footwear. 

“You're the one who woke me up, and...” Sam shudders, “I'd rather not fall back asleep anytime soon.”

“My apologies, Sam. I should have warded your room, too. After we find them,” And they will, Castiel refuses to entertain any of the numerous nightmare scenarios racing through his head. “I'll ward the entire house, room by room. It'll be harder and take quite some time but I'll ward the rest of the property as well.”

“And what are we going to tell the kids about you marking everything up in blood?” Sam leads the way, phone flashlight on, as they walk along the country road. 

The nightlife is suspiciously silent, the only sounds the crunch of gravel beneath their feet. Castiel refuses to speculate on why. 

“I don't need to do it in blood, though it is more powerful. It was just the first thing I had on hand... But Sam, we have to tell them about this.” Castiel glances down at Sam's feet once more. He can see the wear and tear on the slippers, and bites his lip harder. “Sam, aren't you in pain?”

“Mmm? Oh.” Sam shrugs. “It's nothing. Barely registers, really. I'm still getting used to not hurting all the time.... the number Lucifer did on me makes me feel almost normal.”

Sam says nothing about telling the others. He keeps looking straight ahead, yet from the way he refuses to meet Castiel's eyes, Castiel can tell Sam isn't fond of the idea. And he's never been able to leave well enough alone.

“Sam, they love you. Jack will want to help, let alone Magda, and-”

“Jack sees me as a replacement for a father he lost.” Sam cuts him off.

“Sam! That's not fair. Jack loves you. He doesn't know you very well, not yet, but I can tell he wants to. You should have seen the way he smiled after you set him to research the other day. I hadn't seen him so happy in... I can't remember.”

“All the more reason to keep him in the dark, since you both can go home now.”

“You... you foolish fucking... Winchester!” Castiel spits the word, hands clenching into fists as he shakes. “Don't think I don't know what you're doing.”

“And what, pray tell, am I doing, Cas?” Sam turns around, cocks a hand on his hip, and gestures for Castiel to go on. “Since you seem to know me so well.”

“Anyone could see what you're doing. You... you love us,” Love me, he doesn't say, no matter how much he wants it to be true, “I know you do. You've gone out of your way to make a place for each and every one of us in your home, you – you could've left us to Lucifer, until some demon loyal to him found Jack, but you didn't. You searched and you searched and. You want us to go home, so Jack won't be hurt. Well, he'll be hurt if you push us away. Just because you're scared of being hurt, too. You foolish, foolish boy!”

Sam snorts, and turns to keep walking ahead. After a few minutes, Castiel follows him. The children are more important than their little squabble, and yet...

“It's true I don't know you well. But Sam? There is nothing more I wish, nothing more I want, in my heart, than to know you. You're very like the Sam I lost. But you are your own person, and I **can** see that, I do. I already consider you a friend. I'd like us to be family, and I won't let you push me away.”

Anything Sam might have said to that will have to wait for later, because when Castiel finishes, Sam gasps, and runs off ahead. With a grumble that quickly turns to a curse, Castiel follows after. He sees the truck, turned on its side, with giant gouges in the metal.

Fear beats in his borrowed heart until he spies three figures beside it.

They're alive, no demon has found them, no one has delivered Jack to Lucifer and discarded the girls. The dark fantasies in Castiel's head calm, only to pick back up as they get closer. Magda's leaning heavily on Claire, one leg held in an awkward way, and Claire's shirt is in torn in three places. The both of them have bruises, and as for Jack?

He's leaning up against the car, half flat on top it, panting as he laughs. His hair is sticky with blood, plastering against one side of his face. In fact all three of them are decorated with blood, though their injuries seem minor and they themselves appear elated.

At least until they spot Sam and Castiel.

“Oh, shit...” Mutters Magda under her breath.

“Cas! We took out a vampire nest!” Says Jack, as happy as a puppy.

“You WHAT?!” It's unclear who shouts first, Sam or himself. But the two of them descend on the three as one, asking questions and checking them over. 

“Dad, I'm sorry about the truck-”

“You think I care about the truck? Magda, what happened to your leg? Claire we need to get that shoulder looked at-” Sam scoops Magda up into his arms, and glance at the other two. “Can you walk? What on earth were you thinking?!”

“Sam and Dean NEVER took on vampires without backup! Are you insane?!” Castiel rounds on Jack, hands resting on either shoulder as he looks him over. The cut isn't bad, just bleeding like all head wounds do. He'll never understand the human body, he swears.

“Well what were we supposed to do?!” Shouts Claire, already following after Sam as he heads off. She glances back at the truck, but Sam's not stopping, so neither is she it seems. “We got out of our movie and saw a girl get dragged off and -”

“That's when you call me! Magda, you have a phone!” 

The shouting continues, but Castiel cares not. He looks Jack in the eyes, and Jack guiltily ducks his head after but a minute of this.

“Jack. You might be the only one who should know better.”

“I just wanted to help... I just want to help people, that's... that's who I'm supposed to be. You said. Mom said.”

“And if you'd gotten all three of yourselves killed? What then? ...Jack, wanting to help people is an admirable trait, but humans have a saying: Don't be a hero.”

“Sam and Dean were heroes.”

“Yes. And we loved them for it... but they're gone now. There's not always time for planning, sometimes you do have to go with your gut, but... next time something like this happens, you call me. Or Sam.”

“So we were just supposed to let a girl die?”

“Did you even have any weapons with you?”

Jack refuses to meet Castiel's eyes, and he lets out a long, long sigh as he pulls away. The other three are a speck in the distance, and he takes in a long breath through his nose and holds it for five seconds before releasing. He doesn't need the oxygen, but it calms his vessel nonetheless.

“We'll talk more later, Jack. There's something I need to tell you, once we get Magda and Claire checked out. ...and for what it's worth, I am proud of you.” He tilts his eye, smiling just a bit as he rolls his eyes. “As proud as I am furious.”

With that said, he heads towards the others, trusting Jack will follow.

~

When all is said and done, they escaped relatively damage free. Claire's shoulder needs stitches, but Sam has a practiced hand despite being semi-retired. Magda's leg is fine, but her ankle is twisted. Jack receives butterfly bandages on his head wound, as well as a bag of frozen peas to apply to it.

Castiel could probably heal them, but Sam says not to. Remembering how they'd just fought, Castiel nods and sits down at the table. Medical supplies of all sorts, bowls of soapy water, and blood soaked cloth cover it.

If it wasn't sure to re-open their wounds, Castiel would make them clean it up.

Sam leans against the counter, and looks at Magda expectantly. Magda hangs her head.

“I'm sorry.”

“I... just, why, Magda, why?” Sam shakes his head.

“I... I wanted to be like you. When the girl got pulled off, we followed-”

“Actually,” Jack speaks up, “Claire followed. Magda and I followed her.” At Claire's betrayed look, he ducks his head, then winces, as the bag of peas slips off. “...and I'm the one who said it was a vampire...”

“I can't just let someone be hurt. That's not in me...” Claire looks away from them all, and her shoulders shake. Castiel reaches out, wanting to comfort her when she sniffs, and pulls away. “It's what Dad would do.”

He shares a look with Sam, who sighs. 

“Look... I know I'm being hypocritical here. But my dad basically trained me from birth, and most of you don't know what you're doing. Not really.” Claire turns back to them, opens her mouth to argue, when Sam raises a hand. “Over a decade being possessed by an angel doesn't count. You might understand the theory, but you've never killed a monster yourself, have you?”

“Not... before tonight.” Claire admits.

“And it was hell, wasn't it? ...How did you manage it, by the way?”

“We set their lair on fire.” Jack seems extremely pleased with himself over that.

“And as for what happened to the truck?”

“We uh… missed a few…”

Sam sighs again, and mutters something about asking Bobby to help cover that up, maybe send a hunter to clean up the remaining vampires. It’s all rather garbled.

Castiel looks at all of them. Sam, even more worn out than when he went to sleep. Magda, the good child who's finally been bad. Jack, torn between pride and chastisement. And Claire, who … who is looking at the blood painted along the walls.

“Those are angel wards.” Claire blinks, then walks over to study them. “I don't – I don't really remember how to speak it, or read it, but... I recognize the shapes. Castiel, what...”

“It's nothing.” Sam says.

“It's everything!” Castiel shoots a glare at Sam, and pulls himself to his feet. He crosses over to the wards, and runs his fingers over one. He'll need to replace them soon, strengthen them as well. These are shoddy, driven by his panic. 

“Cas?” Jack's voice is so small. 

He hates having to shatter the illusion of safety. But there's no choice, for all Sam is glaring a hole through the back of Castiel's head.

“Sam, do you want to tell them, or are you going to make me do it?”

“What does it matter? I told you. I had a vision of the Empty falling back asleep. You can go home. I'll – I'll find a way, somehow.” Sam throws out his arms and stomps off. The heavy thud of his feet on the stairs is so impressive, Castiel almost wonders when he had time to change into boots.

It's followed by the scurrying of three cats, who peer around the kitchen in alarm. Then slowly, they each pick a human and claim a lap. Claire doesn't seem to know what to do with Belle in her arms at first, eyes wide, but then she shakes, and tears up, and draws the white furred creature close.

Castiel brushes his grace against Belle's mind in gratitude, and receives a mental purr in response. It almost matches the one she's giving Claire in volume. Castiel finds himself watching them all as he tries to figure out a way to say this.

In the end, there's no real choice. It's going to hurt no matter what.

“Lucifer's trying to get out of his cage. He's been tormenting Sam through his dreams, and in his waking hours for years now.”

“But... I remember Castiel – the one who possessed me... She was certain he's contained...”

“No... Rowena promised this was a safe universe. She promised!”

Magda doesn't speak. She only goes very, very pale as her eyes widen. Elijah's practically a teddy bear in her arms, and being squished like one, but he doesn't complain. Only purrs ever louder, a grumbling, rough sound suited to the cat.

“I... I know Jack, Claire...” Castiel sighs, pressing his fingers against his temples. He must be even lower on grace than he thought if a headache is building. Without realizing it, his eyes close and he tries to think of a way to calm them all.

It strikes him as strange how he'd forgotten the real problem once he'd seen their blood covered forms. How much it doesn't matter, still, though he knows he should be lecturing them, or at least trying to convince them from doing it again.

But pressing matters, and all that. Claire and Jack are discussing in low, frightened tones, and Castiel wishes he could concentrate on what they're saying. Instead he's lost once more. What is he supposed to do, what is he supposed to do?

He can't go back to Heaven. He knows they won't help, and besides that... if he alerts them to the problem, they'll know Sam's still alive. Despite being one of the supposedly eradicated special children. Once more Castiel finds himself wondering how and why that is.

Is his alternate self a traitor here?

It should hurt how that thought doesn't surprise him. But Castiel knows himself too well. He won't lie and say he's perfect when he's anything but.

Could he go to Rowena? The chances of her reforming in two universes are very slim, and Castiel has nothing to bargain with either way. Crowley was another one they always bargained with when stakes were high, but with no apocalypse Castiel doubts he's anything more than the King of the Crossroads. If that.

Crowley was always losing any power he'd gained. Any deal Castiel comes to him with will just end up twisted for his benefit.

Dean seems like an obvious choice, except for how Castiel still doesn't have a phone, or know Dean's number. There's a high probability that one of the many he has memorized are still the same, but... Castiel swore to look out for Sam, and...

“No wonder he knew I wasn't the devil.” Magda's voice, soft and breaking in parts, pulls Castiel from his thoughts.

When he looks over, he's startled to see she's crying. With no sound, fat teardrops falling down her chin and soaking Elijah's fur. 

“But he still took me in... still came to get me, when it wasn't working at my Aunt's....” She sniffles, tugging Elijah up to her face. Her hair curtains her, hiding her from view. But her shaking body and the tang of salt in the air make it clear to Castiel she's still sobbing.

Silent as can be.

He's standing over her before he realizes his feet are moving. Claire's giving him a curious look which Castiel chooses to ignore. It's true he doesn't know Magda, but he knows pain. He likes to think he knows humans better than any other angel, no matter the universe.

So he wraps his arms around her, and pats her back.

“Magda, I promise you. This isn't your fault.”

“Years? You said... years?” She sniffles, burying her face in his shoulder. 

Castiel has an idle thought about the grace he'll have to use to clean snot from it, then pushes it to the side. It's fine. Sam’s been nothing but welcoming to what are more or less Castiel’s children, and he needs to do the same for Sam’s daughter. 

Adopted or not, family doesn’t end with blood. Castiel knows that very well.

“He hid it from everyone. I'm... I'm sorry I didn't realize. I should have.”

“Why do you even care?” It's Sam's voice, soft and unsure, but growing in brittle anger as he speaks. He's resting against the staircase, hair falling over his face as he peers down into the kitchen. “This isn't your universe, I'm not the Sam Winchester you knew. From what you've told me, you never even met Magda there.”

Sam eyes soften, once he sees the way Castiel's cradling his daughter, then harden again as he shakes his head. To Castiel, it appears like he's trying to convince himself of his words.

“I...” Castiel tries to explain, he really does. He wants to admit his feelings, but... he shakes his head. After all, he never told the Sam from his home that he had feelings for him. How can he tell another?

Even if he's yet to hurt this one irreparably. Castiel knows it'll happen. His life works like that.

Sam's in the kitchen now, and he doesn't even look mad any more. Instead, his expression is one of utter defeat and exhaustion. 

“You?” Sam waits. And waits, and waits. But Castiel can't answer him.

It feels like everyone's holding their breaths. Claire comes up behind Sam, and Castiel finds himself momentarily curious as to what she's doing. Not that it matters, when he can see Sam's heart breaking right in front of his eyes. 

And there's nothing Castiel can do to stop it.

“Thought so. You like me, like us – but we're not them. Not the people you lost. We can't be. So just... give it up, Cas.” Sam shakes his head, and turns to the door. “I'm going on a walk. I can't sleep anyway.”

“But Sam, I haven't finished warding-” 

“I've been dealing with Lucifer the majority of my life at this point. I can handle a little psychic tantrum.” Sam shrugs as he walks to the door, and grabs his jacket. At least he pulls on his boots this time, though Castiel can see how he winces. 

If Sam will let him, he'll heal his wounds when he returns. It's the least he can do.

Castiel's eyes remain glued to Sam's form as he leaves the house. He doesn't slam the door, doesn't make a fuss or yell again. Castiel almost wishes for those things. At least then he'd have a reason for how leaden his vessel feels.

The door shuts, and it's as if a spell has been broken. The other occupants of the house all turn to him as one. 

“What was that?” Asks Claire, and she's holding something she wasn't before. Belle has wandered off, and cries mournfully at the door for Sam's return.

Magda eases herself out of his hold, and wipes at her eyes. She shoots him a grateful, if wavering look and moves to stand next to Claire, Elijah still in her arms. The cat seems as curious as his owner, who finally asks him:

“Do you... have feelings for Sam? I mean... my Dad?” She looks like she isn't sure how she feels about that, and finally sets down Elijah to fold her arms across her chest. 

Castiel supposes he can't blame her. He knows he's a bad choice for any Sam.

But it's Jack who makes him finally speak, for the boy looks at him, full of determination.

“We're not leaving without helping Sam!” It's not a question at all, but a declaration. “I – I'm not useless. Maybe I've got a lot to learn, but – I was good at researching, Sam said, and Ellen told me I have a, a, knack – and I held off Michael for almost an entire year! ...Back when I had my powers, but...”

“Do you even want to leave at all?” Castiels asks him, though it's his own hands he's looking down at. Though, as he looks up at Claire, he considers once more how the line between vessel and self has blurred so much over the years. 

He wonders if Jimmy will ever forgive him for taking everything in his life. He doubts it, but Castiel can't say he deserves forgiveness either. He hasn't done a very good job of keeping the promises he made.

Claire's not looking at him. She's looking at Jack, features frozen. Until Jack shakes his head, slow at first, gaining momentum. She smiles at that, and so does Castiel.

“No. I don't... I thought I did, at first... home has Mary, and I'd made a few friends, but when you told me about this plan of yours I just... I just wanted to leave. To not hurt anymore.” Jack glances at Claire, and offers her a toothy grin which she returns. “But now? I like it here. I've made friends, I've found a purpose, and... I know Mary and the others can take care of the other world. ...and I know it's dumb, but I like to think Sam and Dean back home have busted out of their heavens.... do you think they'll say hi to my Mom?”

Privately, Castiel recalls how Kelly and the Winchester's didn't have the greatest of relationships, to put it mildly. Then there's the fact that he's not sure even Gabriel would be that lenient, not that Castiel has any idea on how the archangel is running heaven. 

But he smiles at Jack, and nods.

Claire walks over to Jack, and punches him in the shoulder. Castiel's about to object, but from the way Claire's smiling and Jack's grinning back, he comes to realize it's an affectionate gesture. 

He rolls his eyes, and shakes his head. Humans. It's to the point Castiel doesn't want to understand them. 

“That was cute and all, guys, a real touching moment.” Claire's still a little bitter, for all she's still smiling, finally having found a home. “But how are we going to fix this?”

“I'm not sure, but in our universe a powerful witch opened up the cage once more, so perhaps magic is the means to close it tighter here? But I don't know of anyone who can help, not here, and-”

“That's cute, real cute, but Cas, that wasn't what I was talking about. Besides, I'm already on that.” Claire holds up the thing she's been fiddling with all this time. It's Sam's phone. “Magda already unlocked it for me, and I'm going through his contacts texting everyone I can find. But what are you going to do about you and Sam?”

Castiel squints at her. “When did you get so good at sleight of hand?”

“I picked up some things, now and again, during my time as a vessel.” Claire shrugs. She leans back against the counter, and bites her lip as she looks at Magda. “I... get it, it's weird, but... you seem happy with him, and... I still dunno how I feel about you, but you're... important to me, I guess.”

“You have helped my Dad out.” Magda begrudgingly admits, and from the way she's looking at Castiel he can tell it's **very** begrudging indeed. “He used to be in so much pain, all the time, though he'd hide it from me... and you're trying to help now. So. Okay. If you like him, go for it.”

A burst of power knocks Castiel flat onto his back. When he looks up, it's at Magda, glaring down at him.

“But if you hurt him, we're gonna have words! I was trained by the best.” 

It's clear she means Sam. Castiel can’t bring himself to be angry with her, not when she's protecting her adoptive father. Though he must admit if only to himself it does sting to be laid low, and so easily, by a child.

“Why are you all so sure I have feelings for Sam?”

“Um. Cas, you weren't exactly subtle...” Jack speaks, and rubs at the back of his neck. “Here or home. I think Sam felt something for you too, but... well. If this Sam makes you happy, I'm sure he'd understand and want that. No, I know he would. ...And we're staying and it'd be really cool to have two dads again. If you went that route. You are, aren't you?”

Castiel sighs, and brings his hands up over his face. He is a celestial being, he has lived for a millenia, and he has been seen through by mere babes. 

“Enough of that.” Claire tugs his hands away from his face, and helps him up. She shoves him towards the door, and a moment later a smaller, softer but still forceful burst of power pushes him more. 

Claire shares a grin with Magda, and points towards the door. “Go. Fix this.”

“Kiss the boy! It's a little mermaid reference. Dean had it in his collection.” Jack seems very proud of himself.

“I'm not sure what a little mermaid is or why Dean would keep one. Mermaids are very large and poisonous and I think they are extinct and... none of you care and I am stalling.” Castiel sighs, tugging at his hair. 

“You are.” Magda nods.

“Yep.” Claire grins at him.

Even the cats are unimpressed with him, from their perch on the bottom step. Elijah, Crow, and Belle all look at him expectantly. Belle is more distressed than the other two, without her human nearby.

“Fine!” Castiel throws up his hands, and heads towards the door. “If you insist! Not that it will matter, Sam doesn't even like me, and-”

“I think you'll be surprised if you just talk to him.” Magda waves a hand at Castiel, and offers a small shrug. 

Castiel pauses at that. He's felt her power brush over his grace in the past few days, always shy, always unassuming... but she is still psychic. He looks at her, brows scrunching together as he wonders what she isn't telling him. She holds his gaze, and slowly smiles.

With a nod and a gulp, Castiel opens the door and steps out into the night sky. He's surprised to see only a few stars in the sky, the sun already taking over their brightness. 

It feels like several days have passed this night, this morning. But it has only been a few hours, and... and Castiel is still stalling.

He looks down at the ground, finds boot tracks in the morning dew. He sets off to find Sam.

~

There's an air of tranquility in the early morning scenery. Dew quickly soaks into Castiel's shoes, and while he finds the sensation unpleasant, he has to admit the breeze is nice. As is the calling of birds, greeting the day.

He could do without the mosquitoes buzzing about his head however. But a quick flap of his wings sends them flying, and unlikely to return.

Castiel's prepared to come across Sam comatose once more, on the ground bloody and seizing. But that's not what he finds. Instead, after passing the area Claire had cleared but a few days before, and twenty minutes of walking, he comes across a small clearing.

There's three puddles pooling about it, with frogs splish splashing around. Maybe they're swallow ponds, or will be one day. The grass grows high but falls flat, and there's a fallen tree acting as a bench which Sam sits upon.

He has his head in his hands, and he's breathing heavily. His back is bowed, and his hair falls over his face, but Castiel can't smell any blood. Perhaps a tang of salt in the air, which worries him as he steps closer.

Sam's head rises, and he meets Castiel's gaze. His eyes are the slightest bit red behind his glasses, and he looks away soon after, letting out a sigh.

“Look...” Sam starts, hand coming up to tangle in his hair. “I know I'm not like your Sam, or whatever. I haven't hunted in years, or stopped an apocalypse, or... you know. You haven't seen me at my best... not that I've been at my best since. Fuck, forever ago? But see, I **can** actually take care of myself.”

The last bit is said fast and bitter, choking out of Sam's throat. His cheeks flush but he refuses to turn back towards Castiel. After a moment's silence, Sam continues on.

“Maybe I can't run a mile, or I couldn't until you healed me... no, I still can't, too out of practice and I am rambling god damn it – err. Shit, sorry. Habit.”

It reminds him so much of his first meeting with Sam, all those years ago, that Castiel finds his vessel moving forward without his permission. He doesn't fight it however, and moves to sit next to Sam on the log. Sam turns to him the slightest bit, and raises one brow. Almost daring him to interrupt. 

Castiel does not. Only fights against taking Sam's hand in his own. In the end, his will wins out for not, and damn his yearnings.

“Point is, Cas... I'm pretty self reliant. I've had to be. My family – they always cared, and Dean and I hunted together off and on, but I've always had to look out for myself. Making a plan to escape the life, no matter how I got dragged back in... then after I was, and I… the semi crashing into the Impala, after I killed Dad, nevermind how he ordered me to.” 

Sam gestures to his body, sighing.

“I had to relearn how to walk Castiel. For a while there, they weren't sure I would. I had to relearn how to write, the bones in my hands fragile as glass. I'd lost everything – Dad, Dean, my indepence... but I fought to get it back, and even went on hunts with Dean, now and again, once he contacted me years later...”

“That must have been very hard.”

“It was... and then, on one of those rare times when Dean needed a cripple as back up...” Sam flushes more, in anger or frustration Castiel cannot tell. “I should have told him no. Almost got myself killed, my reaction time was shit. ...and then there was a little kid, thought dead, who was being tortured and thought herself Satan.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “And I knew it not to be true, even though I half thought I was mad. Nothing I did, no spell or research would get Lucifer to shut up... but I couldn't say no, when she called me a week later. Begged me to come and get her. Dean told me it was the dumbest idea I'd ever had. I was still living out of hotels, making due on credit card scams and drinking to pass the time. Wasting my life.”

Castiel does reach out this time, and takes Sam's hand. Sam looks back at him, a grateful if pained smile on his face. They sit, just the two of them, for a good few minutes in silence. Slowly, Sam takes a deep breath and continues his story.

“But I told him to kiss my ass, and took her in, settled here... and well.” Sam shrugs. “You know the rest of the story. I'm no hero, Cas. I'm barely even a hunter anymore. But what I am is self reliant, and I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn't have to.” Castiel squeezes his hand, determination building within him. He won't pray, no matter how much he wants to, for courage – he merely wills it to come to him. “Sam, you have to know I'm here for you now. As long as you'll have me.”

Sam looks at him fully, studying him with his hazel eyes. “And I have to ask, again, why do you care?”

He sounds almost defeated, and Castiel lets go of his hand to clench his own tight. He shakes himself, his wings flutter behind him, enough Sam looks back, startled, though Castiel knows he hasn't pulled them into this realm.

Sam's still waiting for him to answer. It's one of the hardest things Castiel's ever done, but he makes himself speak.

Halting, slow, but true words nonetheless.

“Sam...” He starts, looks down. Bites his lip until blood pools under his tongue, then lets it drag across his mouth. “I know – I know you think, that when I look at you, I see my lost friends. ...and that's truer than I'd like to admit, maybe it always will be, but. You're not him, but you are and... I am explaining this so poorly.”

Castiel studies his palms once more, wills the words to come to him. Sam is ever patient beside him until they do.

“You're not as different as you think. You're Sam Winchester, and that means you are a good person, who always tries his best and loves deeply and passionately and I... want to be part of that. I can't.. I won't promise that...”

He laughs, and shakes his head. His eyes draw closed and he feels tears slip down his cheeks.

“You're Sam but you're not him and,” Castiel laughs again, “I wouldn't – I don't want you to be. I like you for you, I... I want... I can't promise I'll forget him, I can't, I...”

“Cas?” Sam's voice, soft and low, causing him to open his eyes. Sam's smiling at him when he turns towards him. “What are you trying to say?”

“I'm saying... I love you, Sam. I want to stay. I want to be with you, as long as you'll have me, in whatever capacity you wish.” Castiel takes a shuddering, unneeded breath. “I can't promise to forget Sam, the one from my universe, but we were never... and I...”

“Cas. I'd be a pretty shit person if I held a grudge over someone long gone holding a piece of your heart forever. Especially when that person is me.” Sam shrugs. “Or a version of me. And I get it – part of me is always going to love Jess... Always going to wish she was here, God she’d love Magda, I know she would… point is… That’s okay. If you love him, so long as… well.”

“Sam? Are you saying what I think you're saying?” He tries to quash it, but hope blooms in his chest all the same. 

Sam laughs at him, and leans close. So close that Castiel feels himself warming, but he can't be blushing. Can he?

“I'm saying that I'd like to get to know you, Cas. I'm already halfway in love with you, and have been for awhile now. So. What do you say? Want to give this a shot?” 

“Yes. Very much yes.”

It's Sam who presses their lips together, and it's Sam who grips Castiel's head, guides him through their first kiss. But it's Castiel who initiates the second. And the third, and the fourth, and – he loses count.

Sam tastes of sleep deprivation and dehydration. He smells of sweat and tears. But Castiel knows he will always, always remember this moment with the utmost fondness.

When they finally separate, he lays his head on Sam's chest, eyes slipping closed as he listens to Sam's heart. It's a steady thump, and he could almost fall asleep like this. Faint alarm fills him at the thought, for he must be getting low on grace if he's wishing to fall asleep.

He loves humans, especially this one, but Castiel never wants to be one again. He knows he's needed as an angel. For better or worse. He makes a terrible human.

“Sam?” He asks, voice muffled against Sam's shirt. “Please.... let me help you. Let us help you...”

“I... alright.” Sam sighs, and squeezes Castiel's hip. “Though I don't know what you can do that I haven't tried.”

“Well, you haven't had help before. And Claire's texting everyone in your contacts for help as we speak.”

“Oh god damn it. I'm going to get chewed out by Dean.”

Castiel has to laugh at that. He won't say it, this thing between them too new and fragile, but a part of him thinks Sam deserves that. A rather large part of him, in fact.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PIV sex in this chapter, if that sort of thing bothers you. Sam tops from the bottom and I use the terminology 'hole' but. Not skin off my nose if you need to skip it.

Sam isn't sure which is worse: The verbal ass kicking he receives from Dean, or the several phone calls long chewing out he gets from Bobby. For a while it becomes a game of phone tag, Sam staring down at a number on his cell, and sighing when it rings again after going to voicemail.

It's Magda who gets him to answer, in the end.

“You know Uncle Dean's not going to give up.” She shrugs from her perch on the counter, a cat on either side of her. Only Belle seems inclined to back Sam up, while Crow has turned traitor. Elijah of course backing Magda. “And Bobby's got a point. You should have told us. I could have helped.”

Belle purrs loudly in Sam's ear as he pets her, but it's not enough to drown out the ringing phone which rattles against the table almost accusingly.

“Betrayed by my own daughter.” Sam knows she has a point, they all have a point – if it was Magda hiding this from him, or Dean doing something stupid, or – hell, anything, really... but Sam really did have a good handle on the whole situation.

The Devil in his ear is far from the worst thing life has thrown at him, after all. 

The phone goes to voicemail once more, and Sam figures his inbox will be full soon enough. Whoever it is has to give up then, right? Only for it to begin ringing again, and Sam sighs, bringing it to his ear and clicking accept. Better to get this over with. Whether it's Dean cursing him out for keeping this from him, or another round of 'You Idjit' from Bobby, Sam just wants this over with.

He has a fleeting hope it's not Ellen. While he's never been to her roadhouse himself, he's heard tales from Dean, and Ellen stops by to see him once or twice a year, has ever since Sam bought this place a few years back.

Sam knows there was a time she hated both of them, and while he thinks it has something to do with how Dean hunted with Jo for a solid year or so before something got between them, he doesn't know the full story. Dean remains tight lipped on the matter, and now that Ellen and Jo are a hunting team, he supposes it's unimportant.

Still, he'd like to know. Despite his senses telling him he won't like the answer, should he ever get it.

“Hey Sam. So Dean tells me we're fighting the devil this time? The actual, in the bible, horned and bat winged, devil?” Charlie's voice comes down the line, full of pep and step, or maybe just three cups of coffee she doesn't need. “Could you remind him I'm your tech girl? Your geek in the wings? Aka I don't really know how to fight or do magic or -”

“Charlie,” Sam laughs despite himself. It's good to hear her voice. As much as Sam will take anyone that's not yelling at him right now, he's glad it's her. “Breathe. ...And he doesn't actually have horns or wings.”

“My point about being better at tech still stands, Sam. You want to start up DnD Saturdays again, I'm your girl, but the Devil? No thank you! ...But I will send you some stuff I've found. Most of it's bullshit, think edgy teens at hot topic, not real devil worship, but... well. It's what I have.”

“Charlie... Thank you. I'm sure it'll help.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere. So what's the plan?”

“So far, not much of one. Castiel's putting up wards with Claire, and Magda is keeping an eye on me-”

“Someone has to.” Magda mutters, one hand on each cat, but she looks away when Sam glances towards her.

With a sigh, he continues on. “And Jack's checking my books.... he won't find anything, I've already looked.” But it made the boy feel better, so Sam’s going to let him.

“Didn't you once tell me we're stronger together? That two pairs of eyes are better than one? ...I so wants deets on Castiel, bee tee dubs, Dean says you've got a crush on him, and can I just say, welcome to the gay side, Sam. We have cookies.”

“How the heck did Dean know...” He and Cas were only around each other for one night. One. “I haven't even told him about us yet.”

“Wait. Did you confess? Oh my gosh tell me everything!!!”

“There's not much to tell,” Sam starts, then stops. Why should he pretend with Charlie? If there's anyone who'll understand, it's her. “...Alright, so there's a lot to tell. He's an angel, an actual biblical angel, from another universe, and... he loved the me from there, but he says he loves me too, and. It's only been a few days but I believe him and Charlie I think, no, I know I love him too and. My daughter is staring at me.”

“No, no, continue on gushing like a teenage girl. Which, of the two of us, I should remind you that I am one.” Magda smirks at him.

“Anyway-” Sam steps out into the hall, but Jack smiles at him from his spot on the couch, surrounded by books. Sam gives him a friendly wave, and starts up the stairs. “He healed me, completely, and he's... he's pretty great, Charlie.”

“Does he have dreamy eyes?”

“I thought you were gay?” 

“I am. I'm also on a dry spell, let me live **vicariously** through you already, or are we not besties?”

“I thought Dean was your favorite brother.” Sam laughs as he settles down on his bed. “Charlie... it's been too long. Sorry I didn't pick up at first, I thought it was Dean calling to yell at me again.”

“Oh I know. He's the one who told me to call you. I'm supposed to tell you to 'pick up your damn phone' and Sam, you should've told everyone sooner... but I get why you didn't. From one self reliant idiot to another, you can count on your family.”

Family, huh? Sam stares at his fingers, and flexes them, still unused to the pain free life he's been given. Been blessed with, really.

“Sam, are you listening?”

“Yeah... hey Charlie. Can I ask... is this how you thought your life would end up, after Dean saved you, all those years ago?”

“Not even close. I never wanted to see him again, or you, but it kept happening and... why fight it. You two are family now, I'm the cool gay aunt. Although if you're bi, not sure that still works. ...No, it definitely does. What brought this on?”

“Just thinking I suppose. I'm still not sure what the plan is, Cas says a powerful witch might be able to help, but he has no idea how to contact her and it sounds unlikely she'll even help. I guess it doesn't really matter... I've had a pretty good life....”

“Don't talk like that, Sam. We still need you... I still need you. Dean's good for my anime and sci fi nerdy needs, but when I need a fellow techie to talk to, or someone who has actually read a book, you're the one I turn to. Also, we've got the whole gay or bi whatever thing to talk about now, and you better believe me when I say I am dragging you to pride this year.”

“Magda'd like that. I'm pretty sure she has a girlfriend, now.”

The resulting squee has Sam's ears ringing, and he holds the phone away from his ears for several minutes as it continues. When Charlie finally goes back to babbling, he has to fight to get a word in.

“Charlie – Charlie it's not my story to tell – Charlie – Charlie I'm not 100% certain – well yes she does seem happy – Charlie. Can we get back to my issues?”

“Sam, no offense, but your issues are boring and I just declared myself the cool lesbian aunt give your daughter phone right now.”

“I will when I head back downstairs.” Sam rolls his eyes, for all she can't see. “I'm sure she'll be thrilled.”

That's not a lie, either. Sam knows Magda loves him, and his life has always been better with her in it. No matter the late nights, the worry, or the heartache, he'll never regret taking her in. But he does worry if he's keeping her isolated.

“Of course she will, I'm awesome. ...So. We need a powerful witch, huh. Have you contacted the Banes twins? Max has a crush on you, I'm sure he'll help.”

“Uuuuuh I kind of have a boyfriend now?” Sam's heart flutters in his chest at that. The word is so... silly, so fleeting, 'boyfriend' can't begin to encompass what he feels for Cas, and yet... lover is too much, too soon, while partner brings to mind his failed law school degree, and...

“Sam, are you drifting off on me?” Charlie's voice snaps him out of it, and Sam shoves his wistful thoughts to the side.

He can think about Castiel later. He can think about how unsure everything is, despite the kisses they've shared and the tentative promise to give this a shot, and how desperately Sam is trying to self sabotage again, now that he finally has a chance to be happy – later. It can wait til later.

“Sam?” Charlie asks again.

“I'm still here. Sorry, got lost in my head a bit.”

“Uh huh... well, Max isn't so shallow he'll not help just 'cause you're taken.”

“And this plan has nothing to do with how hot you think Alicia is, huh?”

“Hey. When one twin is gay, there's like, a 70% chance the other is, too, and you can't blame a girl for trying!”

“I'm pretty sure that has to do with identical twins, Charlie, not fraternal.”

“Oh hey, Dean's here to pick me up. Girl talk's going to have to wait a bit, but tell Magda I want to know everything. Every. Thing. See you soon, Sam!”

“Dean's – Dean's **what**?”

Sam never gets his answer. There's a dial tone, and Sam stares down at his phone with a sense of foreboding. 

“And I thought the house was crowded as it is...” A soft mrr comes from by his feet, and Sam reaches down to pet Crow, whose only too happy to be picked up and carried out of the room. “I guess I need to set up some cots...”

Sam's phone rings again, and he shoves it under his pillow.

“Yep. Definitely need to set up some cots. That's important, couldn't possibly answer the phone, too busy, work to do-” With that decided, he leaves his room, and the ringing phone, behind for another day.

~

The phone continues ringing, off and on, as Sam moves the couches to one end of the wall. Now and again, Magda lets out a snort of amusement, and Jack raises his head and his hand, as if he's about to ask something. But one look at Sam's face has him quieting back down, eyes drawn to the same book he’s been studying for hours now.

After a few more hours, and several upset cats, Sam thinks he has things situated how he wants them. The couches and armchairs are blocking the hall, but not so badly people can't just step across them. The end tables are pressed up against them, which he considers a plus, as Jack is now laying his feet across them.

“Why didn't I get a folding out couch?” Sam wonders aloud, as he unfolds and pops up the first of several cots.

“Because they suck ass.” Magda pokes her head out of the kitchen, a popsicle in her hand.

“Suck ass? Are we allowed to curse here?” Jack tilts his head to one side, considering. “Dean did, but he always got upset when I followed his example. And Sam said I was too young for it.”

“Yeah, you can curse, Jack, just...” Sam pauses, taking into account everything he knows about Jack. “Actually, after everything you've been through, curse as much as you want.”

“Cool. Fuck.” Jack grins, and Magda laughs as Sam ponders what he's just enabled.

With a sigh and shrug he gets back to work. Castiel can scold him later if he wants. They haven't really discussed how to co-parent their children yet, and that's too heavy a topic for Sam to think about right now. 

Nevermind the fact that Magda and Claire are both legally adults, and Jack... is complicated. They're still under Sam and Castiel's care, far as he's concerned.

Right, not thinking about this. As he sets out a third cot, the phone begins to ring once more and Sam sighs, cursing under his breath.

“Please run out of battery soon...”

“You could always turn it off.” Magda says, as she takes a seat next to Jack on the couch. She crosses her legs over each other and knocks her shoulders against Jack's, smiling at him. Jack, for his part, smiles nervously back, happy to be included but not completely understanding what's going on.

He really is Castiel's son, through and through, Sam thinks, as he sets up a fourth cot, just in case. Pulling himself to his feet, he narrowly avoids stepping on a cat tail, having to do a little dance to rebalance himself.

With a heavy thud, Sam ends up sprawling over the other couch and one of the recliners, limbs every which way. Magda laughs at him and Jack leans forward, concerned, but anything he would have said is cut off by the insistent ringing of the phone.

As well as the door opening up, and Castiel and Claire entering, covered in dust and paint. Castiel pauses in the doorway, clearly confused, but Claire steps on past him, and up the stairs, a woman on a mission.

Which is probably a shower, considering how filthy they both are. Castiel's still staring, blue eyes wide and head cocked, as if he thinks if he gives himself one more minute to observe, everything will make sense.

Sam decides to take pity on him and raises his arm to motion at the cots. 

“Charlie called. She said something about Dean picking her up, and other allies, so I assume I'm about to be invaded. Which is usually fine but I've...” Sam pauses, warmth filling him, “ **We've** got a full house already, so... the cots.”

“Charlie? Charlie Bradbury?” Castiel finally breaks out of his stupor, and steps into the room. His legs almost seem to tremble, and Sam sits up, concerned, ready to go to him, but Castiel beats him to it and sits down next to Sam on the couch. “She's alive?”

“Uh... yes?” Sam starts to sit up, but Cas's hands find their way to his hair, and it feels so good that Sam flops back down, eyes closing. His voice is muffled against the couch as he continues on, “Dean rescued her a few years back, and she kept popping up... so he decided to train her as a hunter, and now... well. She's family.”

“I... I see.”

“Something wrong, Cas?”

“Back in my dimension, Charlie was... a great ally, as well. I only met her briefly, but I was charged with protecting her. And I failed... her death is on my hands.”

“...no offense, Cas, but your home sounds awful.”

Cas says nothing about this, only keeps his hands running through Sam's hair. For a moment, Sam forgets their audience, and turns his head so it's resting in Cas's lap. Only to come crashing back to reality at Magda's giggle.

But it's Jack who speaks next, and Sam turns so he can see him. He's gripping the book in his lap tight, and he looks full of determination.

“It can be awful. But – but that's why we tried to make it better... and. It was home.” Jack stands up then, clutching the book to him. 

“I'm sorry Jack. I didn't – I didn't mean to offend.” Sam starts to sit up, but Castiel takes his hand and shakes his head.

“It's alright.” Jack nods, and Sam notices how he won't meet anyone's eyes as he starts up the stairs towards his room, “I'm just a little tired. I think I'll go to bed early. Goodnight.”

Sam watches him sadly as he leaves, and closes the door behind him, quiet and with a note of finality.

“Don't take it personally...” Castiel runs his hands over Sam's hair once more, gently easing through the tangles and scratching at his scalp, “Your observation... is not wrong. Home could be an awful, awful place... that took much from us. Everything but each other, really, and even that once... but it was home, nonetheless.”

Sam feels a familiar brush against his mind, as Magda tells him without words she's heading up herself. He nods softly, knowing she'll pick up on his thoughts if not the action. When he hears the creak of wood signalling her departure, Sam sits up.

Cas seems so lost, and Sam lays his head back down on his shoulder with a happy little sound of contentment.

“There's so much I don't know about you... yet I feel like I've known you forever, you know?”

“No, I don't know. Or, I suspect it's different for me than for you. I have known you, or a version of you, for years... and I don't think that's what you're talking about at all.” Slowly, and full of hesitation, Castiel brings up an arm, and wraps it around Sam's side.

At least that is comforting, the knowledge that for all of Cas's other worldliness, he's as new to the relationship game as Sam. Sam probably has more experience, come to think of it. He tries not to laugh, but doesn't quite succeed, and he shoots an apologetic look towards Cas.

“Sorry. I'm not laughing at you. Just...” Sam shrugs. “Everything still feels so unreal, you know?”

“Again, no. I don't know. Tell me?” Castiel looks so earnest, that Sam has to lean forward and kiss him. 

Despite his lack of experience, Cas is a good kisser. He's eager, and his lips are chapped, but still soft against Sam's, and he follows Sam's lead at first then turns the kiss hungrier, chasing Sam as he pulls back for air.

“Mmm... well. I guess I'd convinced myself that this was it, you know – er. Sorry. Bad habit. I'd convinced myself that... I just had to keep it together for a few more years, get Magda into college, settled into her adult life... then I could give in to madness and spend the rest of my years in a padded white room talking to Lucifer.”

“And now?”

“...I still don't know if you're going to succeed. ...I still don't know if I want you to – I mean, don't get me wrong, Cas – I don't like this at all, but part of why I've never said anything is...” Sam takes a deep breath, and counts to ten before releasing it. “Aside from thinking no one would believe me – less of a thing in my line of work than you'd think, but... I guess I just didn't want anyone to get hurt.”

“Aside from yourself, you mean.”

“Well. Yeah.”

Castiel shakes at this, and turns away from Sam, only to face him again after several moments. He takes both of Sam's hands in his own, and grips them tight, bringing them to his lips to kiss. When Sam feels his breath catch in his throat, Cas begins to speak.

“Why is it, no matter what universe I find myself in, you never realize how important you are? How much people love you? How much we – how much **I** need you? Sam... please. Let me help, let me prove it to you. If you can't believe in yourself... then believe in me. I will keep you safe. I'm not much of an angel, not anymore – but I am still your friend, and more than that... I love you, Sam.”

Sam's quiet for several minutes as he struggles to breathe, as he struggles to see through his eyes which are suddenly, and mysteriously wet with tears he knows won't fall. Castiel holds his gaze all the while, and leans forward to give him a quick kiss.

Eventually, Sam manages to take in several deep gulps of air. He starts to say something but it turns into a wet laugh, and he shakes his head.

“Almost feels like it's too soon for a declaration of love like that... but... y'know what, Cas? I believe you... and I'm going to keep on fighting... I won't give up.”

“Thank you, Sam. That's all I ask.”

The suns setting outside, and Sam's yet to turn on the overhead lights. He doesn't mind, as the rosy glow of early summer evening settles over them. But he is getting tired, and though he's loath to test out the wards strength against sleep, he has to admit that maybe Jack had the right idea.

Castiel looks at him curiously as Sam stands, and even more so when he offers him his hand.

“I know you don't sleep, but... I was wondering.... would you like to join me in bed? Not – not for that... not yet, anyway, but... I think. I think I'd feel better knowing you're next to me, no matter what dreams may come.” Or nightmares, he quietly admits to himself.

Castiel smiles at him, and takes his hand. He squeezes it once before pulling himself to his feet, and surprising Sam by sweeping him into his arms. 

“I always wanted to try this...” Cas admits, sheepish, as he carries him up the stairs. “And... we are a couple, yes? ...This is allowed?”

Sam has to laugh, and nod. “It's allowed. Not too often though, okay? ...And not in front of Dean. Ever.”

“I can agree to that.”

~

Sam comes to slowly, Cas's voice echoing through his dream. It's half dream, half memory – a vision? Maybe, it's hard to tell, but Sam's in that hated hospital bed again. A blade pressed into his chest, and he knows he's dying – then there's a hand on him, and blue eyes looking down at him -

Words he can't recall, because Cas is speaking, soft like he doesn't want to wake Sam, except he's already waking up. The hospital and it's white walls and beeping monitors and the overwhelming pain barely muffled by morphine slip away to reveal Sam's blurry ceiling above.

“No, Dean. I'm taking care of him. Yes, it is my job. Because I care about him. ...I'm going to let that go, because I know you're under stress. Of course I know how bad this is – I probably know more than you do. Because I dealt with Lucifer in my dimension – I've been possessed by him before. ...Yes I do see how that undermines what I just said. My point still stands.” 

Sam gropes for his glasses, going slow so as to not let Castiel know he's awake, but it's futile. Rough callused hands press them into Sam's own, and he gives up the ghost. Sam turns to smile sheepishly up at Cas as he pushes said glasses on his face.

It's still dark out, dawn hasn't even begun to sneak out from underneath the blinds. A glance at his clock shows it's just past three am.

Castiel is still talking to Dean, and Sam pulls himself up into a sitting position. He reaches under his glasses to rub sleep from his eyes, struggling to stifle a yawn but it comes out anyway. Sam has half a mind to ask Cas what Dean's doing up, but he has a feeling he knows.

He doesn't want to talk to Dean, anyway. 

“I'll tell Sam, but he's sleeping right now. No, I am not waking him up.” Castiel looks Sam straight in his eyes as he lets lie after lie loose, and Sam tilts his head in response. He doesn't know why Cas is doing this, but he's grateful. “Yes, I plan to get a phone soon. But without a vehicle it's a little hard. Ah. Sam didn't tell you? The kids crashed the truck. ...Yes I will let him know he can't borrow Baby. You are overly attached to that car, you know. It concerns me.”

Easing out of bed, Sam stretches more out of habit than necessity, years and years of arthritis drilling a routine in him. He supposes it's best to keep it up, he's not getting any younger. Castiel's gruff voice washes over him as he begins preparing for his day.

Sleep's a forgone conclusion. He got around five hours as it is. That's amazing, for him.

Eventually he hears Castiel tell Dean goodbye, and click his phone shut. But he doesn't turn to face him, the events of the dream – memory – almost but not quite vision falling through his head like so much rain.

He wonders if he'll drown in it. If he should. Or, as he finally turns to Castiel, who he's agreed to be more open with... if he should accept the helping hand offered to him.

Sam sits back down on the bed, and places his head in his hands.

“You look troubled. Did the wards not help at all?”

“I...” Sam studies his hands once more. They're fairly soft, despite his youthful endeavors. Years of helping from the research side of things as opposed to being out in the field, where he always figured he would die. The words won't come.

Castiel moves to sit next to Sam, silently offering his support.

“It's... I could still hear him, screaming, but I couldn't make out the words. Like he couldn't quite find me...”

“I am sorry. Something's … off about this universe, and I don't know what still. I've only been in two other realities, aside from my own, but surely with a little time I can figure out a way to protect you...”

“You keep saying that.” Sam turns to Cas then, and offers him a sad smile. “I don't need a protector... I need... a partner. A friend.” He takes his hands, soft though they may be, and presses them into Castiel's callused ones.

They're the hands of a hunter. They're home. 

“You do enough just being here. Don't worry about it, Cas. Really.” Sam takes a moment then to apologise to his alternate self. He feels like he's stealing something from him, but then again, it's that Sam's fault for not taking Castiel's love for himself and holding it close.

He won't make the same mistake. 

“But Sam...” Castiel's looking down at their hands as well. He grips Sam's tight, and bites at his lip like he's struggling to find the words that will make everything okay. “Worry is... it's all I have, sometimes.”

“That's not true. You have me. You have Jack, and Claire, and you're growing on Magda.” Sam laughs, and it's not quite wet, but it's getting there. “I think the cats are starting to get fond of you as well. Crow's easy, but Belle and Elijah? That impresses me.”

All these heart to hearts are really putting his repressed emotions to the test. He's never been Dean level repression, or John, but Sam is still a Winchester. He grew up following his head, it's a fight to follow his heart.

He thought he'd done a good job unpacking all that, these past years raising Magda, but this new thing with Cas... Sam shakes his head, not willing to go down that line of thought. Not now. Not with the way Castiel is looking at him.

“Then what is it? Why do you look so upset?”

Sam bites his lip. Castiel squeezes his fingers once more, and it gives him the strength to drudge the memory up again.

“So... you know when I sleep, I don't always dream...” Cas nods, and Sam laughs, “That's an understatement. If it's not a vision, some hunt I can pass on to Dean or one of the others, it's the Devil giving me a hard time... but more than that. Sometimes... sometimes it's memories.”

“I imagine that would be unpleasant, knowing your life.”

Sam laughs again, harder than before. It sounds a touch hysterical even to his own ears. He pulls his hands free of Castiels, takes a moment to mourn the loss, and moves to tuck his hair behind his ears.

“You don't know the half of it. Usually.. usually it's my Dad. Having to kill him to kill Azazel, or Dean screaming at me... You'd think I'd be over it, we made up.”

“Did you really?” Castiel cocks his head to the side. “Because, if you are anything like Sam and Dean back home – and you are, you really are... You tend to just.” Cas shrugs, making a vague gesture. “Not talk about it and move on. Letting it fester.”

“...Point. It's as good as we're gonna get, Cas. Let's leave it at that. ...But. Sometimes, and more often lately. Twice now in the past week in fact? I dream... I remember being in that hospital. I knew I was broken. I knew my life had changed forever. You'd think I'd be happy. I got my revenge – for Mom, for Jess... but it cost me my Dad. Worse than that, it cost me my brother.”

Castiel nods, not interrupting, and Sam gives him a grateful smile.

“I got him back, eventually, but it's never been the same. It never will be. How could it? I don't think he's ever forgiven me. He still loves me, never stopped – he just hated me for awhile, too... sometimes I think he still does. But that's not the issue... Cas... you met yourself, right? From here?”

“Yes. ...I must confess I didn't much like myself. I... I was not a good person, and have seldom been one. It wasn't quite like looking into a mirror. More like seeing how bad I could have become if I hadn't fought against my own nature, fought to be human – or at least understand you. ...I hurt the Claire of my universe more than words can say. This Claire isn’t a replacement puppy, but. I owe it to her to do anything within my power to make up – and this was supposed to be about you, Sam.”

Castiel folds his arms across his chest and gives Sam an incredulous look. Sam offers a sheepish smile in return, rubbing the back of his neck as he gathers the rest of his thoughts.

“I know, I know. I had a point with that question, Cas, 'cause... see. I think Jimmy's death might have been my fault.”

“I doubt it. To hear myself talk, it was one demon fight too many, and I took advantage of having another vessel right there like the bastard I am.”

“Hey, from one bastard to another, you're getting better.” Sam smiles at him again, and reaches out to take his hand once more. Then, with a deep breath, he lets it all out. “I think I met the you of this universe. Back then I mean. My memory changes, and it's unclear... but I'm pretty sure you – er, he – she? Castiel tried to kill me. ...and then Castiel stopped. And healed me, not... not a lot. But enough so I didn't die... and I can't figure out why.”

“And yet you let me near you...”

“Well, yeah. You're not really him, Cas. You're... I don't know what you are, but I love you. I guess... you're just mine?” 

“I'm not sure we're all that different. I almost feel bad for myself, here... but I like that thought. Being yours, I mean.”

“Good. Get used to it.” Sam leans forward to kiss Castiel, but pauses halfway. “So when does Dean think he's going to get here? And we are so borrowing the Impala to go and get you a phone already.”

“He thinks the Banes twins will arrive before him, but sometime tomorrow he says.”

“Oh goody.”

“I never met them in my universe, but I thought they were allies?”

“Max is nice, a bit flirty, but he and Elijah hate each other. He's not convinced Elijah's just a cat.” Sam rolls his eyes, and tosses his hair over his shoulder. “I've caught him trying to test him, like I didn't myself.”

“Elijah is the smartest of your felines, it is true.”

“...I don't want to know.”

“Sam? You were about to kiss me, yes? Can we go back to that?”

Sam laughs, and leans forward once more. Castiel is getting to be quite a good kisser, and he doubts he'll ever be able to deny him this. Or himself, not anymore.

~

As much as Sam would like to spend all day in bed kissing his new boyfriend, he does make himself get up when light appears through the windows. No matter how much Castiel pouts, or says he isn't pouting – he totally is, and Sam finds it adorable.

Sam would like to go for a walk, or better yet a run, but years of doing too much on his good days warn him off trying to become an athlete now. That and he doesn't want to test the wards just yet – his nearest neighbors are nice enough, but Sam would rather not explain why he started screaming at nothing the minute he passed the property line.

So he settles for his usual stretches, talking to Jack all the while. What the purpose is, how long he's been doing them, yes he can show Jack if he'd like, Jack would like very much! Which quickly turns into an impromptu yoga session with Jack, Claire, and Magda.

Castiel doesn't join in. Well, he joins the cats in looking at them all like they’re utter fools, but he doesn't join in the stretching.

Sam's surprisingly alright with that.

Before he knows it, it's midmorning, and Belle is running for the nearest piece of furniture to hide behind, Crow following shortly after. Elijah stands his ground, jumping on top of the counter and puffing himself out to look twice his normal size. 

“I believe we have company.” Cas says, reaching out to pat Elijah, who allows him the gesture, despite the little growl the cat lets out. He rolls his eyes at this, but doesn't appear to mind, as he keeps petting.

Sam wants to ask how much Castiel understands from the cats, but then again, maybe he's better off not knowing. 

“I'd gathered that.” Sam sips at his tea, unsure if he hopes it's Dean and Charlie, or the Banes twins. Either one is going to be an ordeal.

Not that he doesn't like Max and Alicia – he does. Max was one of the nicer hunters Dean brought around, and Sam has to admit the flirting was more than a little flattering. Even if he didn't feel that he deserved it – after all, what could Max see in Sam, a pain addled, disabled washed up ex-hunter nearly ten years his senior?

Maybe that's just Sam's low self esteem talking. He really needs to work on shutting it up – but it's been hard. What with the whole Lucifer thing, and how Sam would only admit to himself in the dead of night that it was real, and he wasn't crazy. And that's not even touching how it was in Lucifer's best interest to keep Sam low, beaten down, easy to manipulate.

“It will be alright.” Cas's voice interrupts Sam's melancholy once more, and he abandons his own mug of tea to take Sam's hand and give it a squeeze. 

Sam smiles back at him, and takes a deep breath. Cas is right. 

It really will be okay. Maybe not the whole Satan thing, Sam's sure the wards will fade soon enough, but Max and Alicia are his friends. Charlie and Dean are family.

They'll be upset he's kept something like this from them, but they want the best for Sam. He should be happy to see them.

With that in mind, Sam pulls himself to his feet and goes to the door to let them in.

It turns out to be Max and Alicia. Alicia's already out of the car, fetching something from the backseat. Max is still on the drivers side, and he catches Sam's eye and shoots him a smile. Sam finds his worry easing even more.

He senses Castiel moving behind him, and come to lay a hand on Sam's shoulder. But his eyes are still on Max, who looks surprised, and maybe disappointed for a second before shaking his head and grinning even wider as he exits the car and heads towards them.

“And who's this? Dean didn't mention much, just told us to get here and you'd explain,” Max's eyes roam up and down Castiel's form, and he nods appreciatively and holds out a hand for Castiel to shake. “Speaking of, I've never heard your brother more worried. Thought I'd seen the worst of Mama Bear Dean. What did you do, Sam?”

“That sounds like Dean.” Sam will **have** to remember to thank Dean for this when he gets here. Leaving it all on him to explain is just... mean. “It's... it's complicated...”

“Sam has been having visions of the Devil for several years now. Lucifer is still in his cage, but because Sam is his true vessel, they have a connection and Lucifer can influence Sam's dreams and waking thoughts to a degree. I fear it has gotten worse because I'm here.”

Or. Castiel could explain everything in that blunt way of his.

“And why is that?” Max turns a glare on Cas, his arms coming to fold across his chest. “If you've hurt Sam-” He starts, but Cas is already shaking his head.

“I would never. Not on purpose, not anymore-” And Castiel is doing a wonderful job of reassuring Max, truly, Sam really needs to step in, but Cas is still talking and it's rude to interrupt. “But I brought Lucifer's son to this universe, and he's grown louder.”

“What – just who are you? Alternate universes? Sam. I knew you Winchesters got into some deep shit, but this -”

“My name is Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord. ...Just not one of this universe.”

“He's also my boyfriend.”

“I am also Sam's boyfriend.”

“What did I miss?” Alicia walks up, carrying a – a cat carrier?! From which come several plaintive meows, and before Sam can stop her she's brushing past him, and setting the carrier down on the counter. She glances at the cots and grimaces, but doesn't say anything.

She's a hunter, she's slept in worse. She turns around, and puts her hands on her hips as she smiles at the rest of them.

“It can't have been that important. So, Dean said you have two more kids staying with you now, and we came across these guys a few days ago, but the shelter where we were hunting was full, and Dean said you wouldn't mind, so-” Alicia steps away from the cat carrier, which Elijah is now curiously sniffing.

Even more unhappy meows leave it, and Elijah backs up with a hiss, taking part in the great cat exodus to parts unknown. Or more likely, underneath Magda's bed. 

While the cry of kittens has sent the toughest of the feline denizens of the Winchester home away, it draws nearer the other humans or nearly humans. Magda, Jack, and Claire crowd around the cat carrier as Alicia grins, and opens it up to reveal four kittens.

Max is still looking at Castiel with suspicion, but he's also clearly charmed by the little creatures, and enters the house. Sam shrugs at Castiel, and he holds back a sigh as the two of them follow after. 

He can... probably afford four more cats. 

Magda's cooing over a tuxedo kitten, while Claire is being charmed by a calico, and Jack has the two tabby kittens in his arms, smiling like the sun. Castiel stops in his tracks, and shoots Sam a desperate glance full of pleading.

Sam sighs. Okay, he can definitely afford four more cats.

“When did I become an animal shelter, anyway?” Sam mutters to himself, shaking his head as he goes to sit down on one of the recliners. “You can play with them for awhile, but then you need to put them in one of the bathrooms until the other cats get used to them. ...Seven cats, Dean is going to give me so much shit for this...”

Not that Dean has any room to talk. Fucking enabler.

Max watches Castiel out of the corner of his eye while everyone plays with the kittens. Claims have clearly been made, and shown in the names given to them. Jack almost names one of the tabby's Skywalker but is talked down to calling them Jedi and Solo, as that's a mouthful for a little kitten.

Which Magda completely undermines by naming the little tuxedo kitten Tailchaser, because she likes to see Sam flounder. Sam overhears Castiel trying to talk Claire out of calling the calico Killer, as he helps the kids set up the bathroom for the kittens.

Sam turns to the twins while they're off doing that, knowing he can't stall anymore.

“So. You trust this 'Castiel'?” Max asks him, leaning forward to rest his head against his hands. “I can sense power from him, but it's pretty dim. We've never run into an angel before, and I still don't get the whole 'alternate universe' thing, though Jack's a good kid. There’s an echo of power about him, but it’s not dark.”

“...Yes. I really do.” Sam looks down at his hands. “I haven't known him long, but... he's broken through all my defenses, and... yeah. I love him.”

Maybe it's too soon to say. But Sam's lost so many good things in his life, he's not about to give up on this just because they're moving too fast or it's too scary.

“Then okay.” Max leans back into the couch, and swings a leg up on the end table, grinning all the while. His demeanor completely changed from a moment ago. “Still say you're missing out on what we could've had, but he looks like he cleans up well enough under that ridiculous get up.”

“Max. Be nice.” Alicia elbows her brother, before turning to Sam. “And clearly I missed something – Angels? Alternate universes?”

“You said it wasn't important~” Max teases, sing songing all the while, “You were too excited about the kittens ~”

“So sue me. They're cute, and if we can't have pets, knowing there's somewhere I can always come and visit helps. ...I can, right?” Alicia turns to look at Sam, eyes wide.

“Of course. ...Just don't bring anymore, no matter what Dean says.” Sam laughs, and brings his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “I don't actually want to be a crazy cat dude.”

“Here here.” Max agrees, nodding. “But it sounds like you're already three of those things – crazy, dude. With seven cats-”

“I'm not crazy and the last part is your fault.”

“Could someone please explain what's going on?” Alicia stops their good natured bickering before it can really start, one hand held up while the other comes to rest on her head, exasperated by the two of them.

“...It's like Cas said. You know I have visions, right? Well... for years now, I... I've been seeing the Devil. He changes forms, but he's really fond of taking mine... and a few weeks back, I had a vision of Castiel and Jack entering this world.”

“Hence the alternate realities thing.” Max nods.

“Mmm. Castiel really is an angel – he healed me. ...and it turns out, I'm Lucifer's true vessel... except there's no apocalypse here, and... I should wait until Castiel gets back. It's his story to tell.”

“I am here.” Castiel steps out of the bathroom, and shuts it behind him. He smiles sadly at the closed door, but shakes his head and walks towards them. “They're going to play with the kittens for a while yet... and I don't want to trouble Jack with memories. Sam's right. This tale is a long one, and... very painful.”

Castiel sits down next to Sam. He clasps his hands in front of him, and studies them for a moment. It's only when Sam lays a hand on his knee that he begins his story. When he's finished, the twins are silent and considering.

Eventually it gets to Sam, and he bites his lip. Before he can say anything, Max and Alicia turn to look at each other. He can tell there's a whole conversation going on between them, no words necessary. As one, the twins turn back towards them and nod.

“Yeah, okay.” Max grins. “See, that was your problem before – you didn't have me to help you.”

“It's hardly the weirdest thing we've ever dealt with.” Alicia nods again, and stretches her arms over her head. “Let's see if we can figure out a solution before Charlie gets here to flirt awkwardly at me.”

“Thank you – wait.” Sam pauses, head tilting to the side as what she just said registers in his brain. “You – you... why don't you just tell her you're not interested, then?”

“I never said I wasn't. It's oddly charming, like a puppy peeing in your shoes.” Alicia stands up then, and crosses over to the basement door. “You still have a ton of 'cursed books' down here?”

“As well as other cursed object, yes, but -”

“I'm going to take a look. Maybe the knowledge we seek is in forbidden places.” Alicia laughs at him, shaking her head. “I may not be a witch, but I can handle myself.” With that said, she lets herself down into Sam's basement.

Sam blinks in bewilderment after her, only coming out of it when Max slaps a hand down on his shoulder.

“She's at least bi-curious, and if you ask me she could do worse than a geeky little redhead. Now, come on. We've got research to do, and I want to hear all about how you two got together.” Max nods his head at Castiel. “Must be some story...”

“It's really not.” 

“I'll be the judge of that. Now stop stalling and dish.”

~

The day is spent researching, with little to show for it. Sam ends up having to send Magda with Alicia to the store mid-afternoon, as despite making places for them to sleep, he'd neglected to stock the pantry for an overflowing household. Alicia finds Sam's predicament amusing, and Magda's just happy to run off with one of Sam's credit cards.

He has a feeling there'll be one or two suspicious charges at the beginning of next month, but, well... Sam doesn't really care. Magda never goes too crazy with their money, and he does like to spoil her. His father never did, and as for Magda's birth parents...

She can buy a few things beyond the extensive grocery list if she wants.

Still, even with a fully stocked pantry, they end up ordering pizza for dinner, despite Sam's objections. Castiel looks wistful as everyone eats, but shakes his head when Sam asks what's wrong.

Sam makes sure to hold Castiel tight when the angel slips into bed with him. He might not sleep, but Sam can tell Cas enjoys the physical contact from the way he melts into Sam's arms with a happy little sigh.

As much as Sam wants to talk to Cas, the day's events and his whole life has him too tired to stay awake for much longer.

For a long time, Sam doesn't dream. He floats through a peaceful blackness, his body revitalizing, until he feels something building along the edges of his sleep. For a minute he feels himself panic, ice cold despair warring with red hot fury at Lucifer finding a way past the wards **already** , but then a calm, cooling touch wraps around him.

Slowy, Sam begins to see. Everything is all white at first, then he hears the chirp of birds. He blinks, once, twice, but his surroundings remain the same. 

He's sitting at a bench, trees all around him. Except... he knows this place. It's a park just outside Stanford, where he and Jess, sometimes Brady too, would go and study. Or just fuck around with beers and fries.

Sam hasn't been here in years, and yet it's so familiar.

“It's nice, isn't it?” A voice, one he knows intimately, speaks up from beside him.

Sam turns, and despite the impossibility of it all, he isn't surprised to see who's sitting next to him. The man is maybe half an inch taller, his hair isn't quite as long as Sam's own, and he doesn't wear glasses... but it's his own face looking back at him.

“Hey. ...This is... pretty weird, huh?” The other Sam asks, a hand coming up to the back of his neck.

He finds himself wondering if he looks that sheepish, that unsure of himself, all the time. That wounded. But he nods, then after a pause, shakes his head.

“It should be but... I guess I've been wanting to talk to you for awhile. ...Except... how?” Sam looks around, and despite curiosity killing the cat, he knows how the rest of that line goes. Sam stands up, and walks around, knowing satisfaction will bring him back.

The park fades away, and turns into Sam's own home. Magda's standing in front of him, wide eyed and wounded, one hand clutching the other as she fights not to tremble.

“I... I can really stay?” She asks.

“Of course.” Sam feels himself answer, except... “Wait... this is a memory....”

“Didn't Cas tell you that's all Heaven is?” The other Sam falls into step beside him, looking around at the home in awe as he takes in all the books, and the furniture, but pauses seeing the cats wandering around. “Huh. Always considered myself more of a dog person.”

“So this is Heaven?”

“Yeah. I guess I shouldn't be surprised you can influence it.”

“Am I dead then?” Sam looks around, as the scenery changes again. He figures it must be the other hims memories this time. As they're both in the Impala, himself in the passenger seat, while the other Sam drives.

The other Sam looks just as uncomfortable to be in the front seat as he himself feels about Dean not being there. But they drive on, and his other self turns to him.

“No, you're not dead. Sorry for doing this, but... Well. It's not really heaven without Cas, or Jack, and... Gabriel's still healing.”

“Oh. You want me to get a message to him, then?” He looks out the window, but doesn't recognize the scenery. Which should strike him as unusual, but all Sam feels is a deep sense of happiness.

“Something like that... I know he worries. I know he feels like he failed us, but Dean and I made our own choice and... I'm proud of him, y'know? Someone needs to look after Jack.” The other Sam grins, and he really does look proud. “I just wish it hadn't taken what it did. I get it, though.”

His voice, though still prideful, is also filled with a deep sense of loss.

“And...” The other Sam turns to him then, shrugging. “I think maybe there's something I can do to help you, if you'll pass on my message.”

“I would even if you didn't help.” Sam shrugs, leaning back into his seat. The Impala feels different, somehow, and he supposes that makes sense. It isn't really his home, despite the similarities. “So, what do you want me to tell him?”

“...Well. Tell him we're alright. Tell him... tell him Heaven isn't Heaven without him, that he'll always be our brother... and tell him Gabriel's doing an alright job shaping this place up.” The other Sam laughs, shaking his head. “I know, I know. I'm surprised too. But he's really done a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for starters... Heaven's not full of closed doors anymore. It kind of can't be... he, with Rowena, figured out a way to get Michael and Adam out of Hell, and I can't blame them for not sticking around. But Michael shows up now and again to help power the place.”

“Should I know who those people are?” Sam instantly regrets his question from the way his other self frowns. “Ah... sorry, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“Maybe it's better that you don't know. I guess I was just hoping Adam survived somehow in your world... but then again. Being half Winchester was always his doom... and believe me, I know death is sometimes better than living.”

“Ouch. Can't say I'm surprised to hear myself say that, but ouch.”

“Yeah. No point in lying to yourself, is there?” The other Sam shakes his head, “But that's not important. Mainly, I guess you should tell him Heaven will be okay. A lot of people do stick to their own personal heavens, but more and more of us are wandering the halls. Helping to power the place, y'know? Nothing like soul juice, as Dean puts it... I think Rowena might even be forgiven for all her sins, with how she's helped this place... Heaven's definitely more Pagan now.”

The other Sam laughs, long and hard, as if he's sharing some in joke. Sam can't really figure out what's so funny, but he supposes he'll have to ask Castiel to go into more detail about Gabriel to get it. Eventually the laughter stops, and the other Sam wipes at his eyes, turning to grin at him.

Sam just smiles back, confused though he is.

“Is that all?”

“No. One more thing... He loves you, huh?”

“I uh... sorry if I'm stepping on your toes, but in my defense you are kind of... dead.” Sam starts to explain himself, then pauses, because really, why is he apologizing? He straightens his back, and folds his arms over his chest. “And I'm not, and you were never together from what Cas tells me.”

“You're right. I am, and we weren't.” The other Sam laughs, “And don't worry. I'm not mad... Cas and I... well, we could've. The possibility was always there... but it was never the right time, some world altering thing was always getting in the way, and then. Well. He'll always be my family, and yeah this is a little weird, but whatever, you know?”

He gestures around them, the memory still going strong. Sam nods at his other self in understanding.

“So...” He starts.

“So.” The other him continues on. “Don't worry about it. And tell him I'm happy for him. Dean is too, wish you could see him, but Gabriel only has the energy to do this for one of us, and since we're echoes of each other, it works out the best. You both have my blessing, or whatever.”

“Not that we need it.”

“True. You don't. But you have it all the same. And Sam? Tell Cas he's probably wrong about Jack. His grace might come back sooner than he thinks, and when it does... well. Gabriel says he'd be happy to have more Winchesters here. And even if it doesn't, if Cas can figure out how to hold on to your soul once you die, Gabriel's fine if he smuggles a soul or two across dimensions.”

Sam pauses, considering. He knows Castiel and Jack are homesick, and he can't blame them. But, knowing what he does of Heaven, which is admittedly little... still. Can Sam really abandon his home, all his family except for Dean?

“Or more than a soul or two. You've got a daughter, right? ...Wish I could've saved my Magda, so y'know what, bring her, and whoever you want, frankly.” The other him grins, and – 

The scene shifts, going blank white, and a short, blond man appears. The man puts his hands on his hips and turns an absolute **pout** on Sam's other self, lip wibbling just so. Sam pauses a moment, the man looks so familiar, then it hits him. This is the other man from Sam's vision, and it feels so long ago, but that means this must be Gabriel.

“Hey!” Gabriel practically whines, one hand coming up to point a finger accusingly towards them. “That was not part of the deal, Sammich!”

“That's rich coming from you, Gabriel.” The other Sam mirrors Gabriel's stance, and walks forward to poke the archangel in the chest. “You know it's true. You whine, you bitch, you moan... but you've turned Heaven into your playground, and you miss your family. That, and you like me. Hell, you **owe** me. And I say what Cas wants, Cas gets. It's not like it's the first time we've offered up our world as a home, either. ...Although I was more than just a soul last time...”

“...Fine.” Gabriel shrugs, disappearing. But his disembodied voice lingers on. “You really need to wrap this up, though. I'm nowhere near recovered and I'm just about out of power.”

“Right...” The other Sam sighs, and the white fades away, replaced by a library. 

The scene is vaguely familiar to Sam, but he can't quite place it. So he figures it's not his memory. His other self is watching him sadly.

“There's so much I wanna say... but. Just, take care of him, okay? And tell him to look into tying a soul to grace. ...tell him Michael suggested it, and he knows what he's talking about.” His other self is starting to disappear, fading away before his eyes, his voice growing dimmer and dimmer.

“I – what?” Sam can feel himself falling, and falling, and -

“Just tell him. Good luck, Sam. ...We miss Cas, but I hope I don't see you for a long time yet. Be happy, okay? One of us should be.”

Sam snaps out of the dream, the vision, whatever it is, by falling face first on his bedroom floor. 

He stays flat on his stomach for several moments as he comes back to himself. His head doesn't hurt like usual when he has a vision, but everything else does, his heart beating wildly and his limbs aching almost as bad as they used to, before Castiel. Castiel – that's right!

Sam needs to tell him before he forgets, doesn't he? Except a lot of it's already fading, and Sam makes himself repeat everything he can like a mantra, mumbling under his breath. Strong hands wrap around him, and help him back up onto the bed.

“Sam?” Cas settles him against the bed, and leans over him, head on Sam's brow as he looks down at him in concern. “Are you alright? You didn't appear distressed, but you were glowing for a time, and I couldn't wake you.”

“I... had a vision. Kind of. Does the name Adam mean anything to you?”

“Ah...” Cas pulls away, and turns his head to the side. He's got an expression on his face that Sam's never seen before, and it takes him a moment to peg it down. Guilty. Castiel looks guilty.

“Cas... I bring it up, because...” Sam takes a deep breath, knowing this is going to hurt Cas no matter how gentle he phrases it. So he decides to take a page from Cas's book, and state it bluntly. “It wasn't a normal vision. It was sort of like how Lucifer could guide me, or trap me... but it was friendly. Sort of.”

Castiel turns back to him, curious, and Sam keeps going. Reminding himself to be blunt. 

“It was from Heaven. Not – not the one here, and man Cas, you really need to explain why you're so upset about Heaven here, it's more than just Claire and your alternate self trying to kill me. Not the point. Okay, look, Sam Winchester from your universe somehow contacted me. I really don't know how. He mentioned a lot of names – Gabriel, Michael, Rowena... Adam.”

“Adam is... was your half brother. He became the archangel Michael's vessel, and is trapped in Hell. We try not to think about it.” Castiel turns away again, shaking his head. “He's dead here as well, and still a vessel, but in Heaven. I suppose he's happy at least.”

“Oh.... I wonder if Dean knows about this. If so, he never told me... but. He's not trapped in Hell anymore, Gabriel got him out.”

“That seems unlike Gabriel.”

“I can't say, I've never met the guy. He's got a weird relationship with my alternate self, though.”

“That's putting it mildly. ...Sam... what did – what did ...er, Sam say?”

“He says... He says he and Dean miss you, and not to worry about Heaven. Apparently it's fueled by human souls now? And Michael shows up to power it now and again. Really don't get what that's about, but he wanted you to know... and he says be happy. We have his blessing.”

Sam laughs, and laughs, and laughs, to the point Castiel reaches out for him and draws him close.

“Sam? I fail to see what's so funny.” Cas sounds just as lost as Sam feels. He can't really see his face, with how Cas has him pressed up against his chest.

But Sam supposes that's fair. It's a lot to dump on a guy.

“There's more.” Sam makes himself pull out of the embrace, and look Castiel in the eyes once more. “He said something about binding grace to a soul? Apparently Michael suggested it. ...I don't know what to think about being watched, or how, or... it's not important. ...The other Sam really loves you. He kept calling you brother...”

Cas doesn't say anything in reply. He only offers Sam a watery smile, like he doesn't quite believe those words. They are too little, too late after all.

“...And that it's not heaven without you. Dean agrees, but I didn't see him. Wish I could've... but. He also said something about Jack's grace coming back sooner than you think, and if so... to come back home... or. If I die before that, just bring my soul but... ha, ha...”

Sam starts laughing again, and brings his hands up to his face, covering it. He's shaking, he's shaking so hard, and before he knows it, the laughter turns to sobs.

“Sam?” Castiel's voice is soft, as soft as his touch, which wraps around him yet again. When Sam doesn't reply, he starts to rock him, back and forth, saying nothing. His silence is as comforting as his arms.

Eventually, Sam pulls away, voice breaking as he speaks. “I'm not stupid. I know... I know there's no way I'm getting through this... why do you think I started pushing you away? I made my piece with it a long time ago... I just wanted to get Magda to college, starting her own life, then...”

“I won't let anything happen to you.” Castiel bites at his lip for a moment, then leans forward to kiss him. 

Sam kisses back with a desperation he hasn't known in sometime. He presses Castiel back against the bed, and rains kiss after kiss upon him, his tears slowing but never stopping. After a few minutes of this, Cas holds out his hand to stop him.

“Sam, wait... I want this, but not if you don't. Not without you knowing I mean it. I will keep you safe. I'll have to look into your message, but even if nothing comes of it, I'm not giving up on you. I refuse to. ...This doesn't end in your death, Sam. I won't allow it.” 

Sam pulls back, and rubs at his eyes. He offers Cas a smile which he hopes isn't too watery. With a nod, he sits up from the bed, and heads to his dresser. He digs in the top drawer, towards the back.

“You don't believe me.”

“I...” Sam pauses in his searching, and turns to face Castiel. “I want to... I just... I guess I need some reassurance, is all.” His hand finds what he's looking for, but maybe Cas is right. Maybe this isn't such a good idea right now.

His dick can deal.

“Ah, sex as a form of reconnection. I see.” Castiel sits up on the bed, and crosses one leg over the other. “I'm worried about you, and I admit I'll need you to guide me here, but if this will comfort you... then. Let's have sexual relations.”

“Please never call it that again.” Sam heads back to the bed, lube in one hand. With his other, he wipes the remaining tears from his eyes. Of course, now that he's made up his mind, he grows nervous. Which Castiel picks up on, reaching out to him once more.

“Sam? We don't have to. I don't want to do anything you don't like, and I have only done this once... She led that time, too... perhaps I should have researched more. The pizza man wasn't very informative, and by the time Meg wanted to explore that, I was in no state to-”

“Who's Meg?”

“...Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Sam.”

“I'm not - I'm not jealous.”

Cas gives him a look at that, and Sam sighs, setting the lube down on the bed. He takes off his sleep shirt and tosses it to the side. His pajama pants are next, leaving him in his boxers as he sits down next to Cas on the bed.

“Alright, maybe I'm a little jealous... I think the other Sam noticed that, too.” Great job, Sam. Remind him that all his friends and family are dead. Real way to get yourself laid. “...It's just. You have so much history I don't know about, and I wish I was there, but you wouldn't be you without it, and...”

Sam turns to smile at him sadly. “I guess I'm still not that great at emotions. I just know I want you... and it's been awhile. Years and years since I've had anything except my hand... and I'm a little nervous.”

“I must admit I am as well. I don't want to hurt you or do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“You don't have to worry about that.” Sam snorts, as he leans up to help Cas out of his coat. He bites at his lip, his lower regions gaining interest as he reveals more and more of his boyfriend. His angel. His. No matter the life Castiel has led, he's with Sam now. “I've been on hormones for most of my life at this point, and I'm pretty comfortable with my body... ah. I don't – sometime I'd like to top you, but it's never really come up in a few years, so I'm bottoming this time.”

Finally, Sam manages to get Cas out of his pants, and wrap his hand around his cock. It jumps in his hands, and Cas takes in a gasping breath. Sam's not immune either, he can feel himself growing wet between his legs, and his own dick getting hard.

It's not the horrible situation it was in highschool. Since getting on hormones, and really, college and Jess, Sam was able to reclaim his sexuality. Now, with the way Castiel is staring up at him with what can only be described as sheer **want** , Sam feels powerful.

Desirable.

He keeps pumping Cas, making him pant and moan, and he chuckles quietly to himself, only pausing to coat Cas in more and more lube. When he's got Cas dripping, with both lube and precum, he pulls away. Sam won't deny the desperate sound Cas is making has him grinning, but there's more still to do.

Sam slips out of his boxers at last, and reaches for the lube. He hasn't entirely dried up like some men do on hormones, but he'd still rather be safe than sorry. So he takes a moment to coat his hand in lube and rub it around his cock.

He has no idea how large he is, compared to others, and while he knows he's got nothing on someone born male, Sam likes to think he's big enough. His cock is certainly standing to attention, and he draws in a hitch of breath as his wet fingers glide over it.

Castiel is sitting up on the bed, his gaze lock on Sam. Sam fights back a sudden wave of shyness, and spreads his legs so Cas can better see what he's doing to himself. He eases a finger inside his front hole, and spreads the lube around, and follows it with another, and another, pumping against his sweet spot all the while.

He has to stop himself before he goes too far. It's been long enough that Sam knows he's pent up, and this whole thing will be over before it even starts if he's not careful.

“Cas? You ready?” Sam eases his fingers out of himself, and kneels on the bed, crawling over his boyfriend. His angel.

“I'd very much like to have sex with you now, yes.” Cas is biting his lip again, and there's a flush on his skin.

Sam leans down, and laughs into a kiss as he sinks down on top of Cas's dick. He's slow going, and careful, despite how much he just wants to start riding him. Castiel brings his hands up to Sam's back, and clutches him tightly. 

He's shaking by the time Sam's fully seated. Sam breathes heavily through his nose, never breaking the kiss as he takes a moment to just feel Cas inside him. He's hot, and thick, and feels so good, like he belongs there, and Sam knows he's being foolish but he swears he can feel Cas's heart beat from his dick.

Sam laughs again, and Cas joins in, before moaning, his fingers pressing bruise tight against Sam's skin.

Then Sam begins to move, and Castiel loses all pretense of being quiet. He's not the loudest lover Sam's ever had, not by a long shot. He's not screaming, or crying, but his moans and gasps mix with Sam's, as the two of them rock against each other.

Up. And down, repeating, over and over, Sam using his muscles to grip Cas tight, and direct him exactly where Sam wants. They've barely started, but already Sam's so close, heat gathering below, and he starts to move faster and faster, one hand coming down to rub at his own cock.

The other grips Castiel's shoulder for balance, which Sam needs soon enough, as he practically falls against Castiel as he comes, and comes, and Cas, who's been trying so hard to be good, to be gentle, and still – he rocks up into Sam then, chasing his own release.

Sam can feel him find it, and laughs again. He peppers Castiel's face with kisses, enjoying the feel of various fluids dripping out of him. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to end their connection, but Sam's legs are jelly, and with a wet pop Castiel slides out of him as Sam moves to lay down beside him.

“So... that was...” Castiel doesn't finish his sentence.

“I... yeah. It certainly was.” Sam gropes around for the lube, and finds it. His hole is throbbing pleasantly, and everything is in that after sex glow. His dick's still too tender to touch, but Sam pops open the lube once more.

At the sound, Castiel turns to face him, curious. And very, very interested.

“Hey Cas?” Sam asks, as he begins to prep his back hole, grinning all the while. They've got a long night ahead of them, and for once, Sam wants to feel alive. “How soon can you get hard again?”

Castiel answers him with a kiss, and Sam doesn't have long to wait at all.


	8. Chapter 8

It's been several years now that Castiel has inhabited his vessel, and yet still the cares of the human body annoy him. It isn't like he has a soul, but with his diminished grace, he finds himself tip-toeing out of Sam's room around dawn to get a glass of water. He hopes he only needs one to replace all the fluids lost, and that the unpleasant human experience of urination doesn't follow.

Ever since Metatron, and the fall, his grace has been so much less than it was... no, even before that, after the war, and the Leviathans, Noami… Castiel shoves his dark thoughts aside. It’s over, it’s done with, and most importantly: He doesn’t wish to think of it any longer.

Sam's message from Michael echoes in his head, but Castiel's unsure it will work. Perhaps, if he wasn't so out of tune with the celestial energies of this dimension, he could attempt just that.

The Sam from his own universe would never have wanted it. It was too akin to possession, and he'd had more than enough of that in his life. Castiel looks down at his hands, as he waits for the water to fill his glass.

After Lucifer took control of his own vessel, he'd thought perhaps he'd understood the sense of violation. But no, he was a willing participant of the entire exchange. In some ways, being with the Sam of this world is a blessing... he wouldn't call it easier, but. 

Castiel takes his glass in hand, and drinks it down. After a pause, he fills it again, and heads back up the stairs, whisper quiet, to leave it beside Sam's bed. If Castiel has a minor headache, Sam will surely wake in pain from their endeavors.

As he enters the room, and closes it behind him, Castiel pauses. Sam's laid out, flat on his stomach, his hair falling over his face and the blankets twisted around his middle. He's clutching the pillow to him, and he's rolled into Castiel's spot in the time Castiel's been gone.

Castiel finds himself smiling as he walks into the room. No, Sam isn't the Winchester he had to say goodbye to, not the one he shared a history with, but... and it hurts to admit to himself, Castiel isn't sure he would wind back the clock, and give this up, if he had a chance.

He sets the glass down beside the bed, and takes a seat in Sam's vacated spot. Bringing up his hand, he brushes Sam's hair back out of his face, and rests it on Sam's shoulder. Sam murmurs in his sleep, and a bit of drool leaves his mouth as he snores.

It's both gross, and oddly cute. Castiel wipes it off with the corner of a sheet, and leans down to kiss Sam's forehead, adding just a bit of grace to help him sleep. He has little to spare, but this isn't a waste. No matter what Sam might argue.

Rising again, Castiel opens the door, and raises a brow at the trio of cats waiting for him. Rolling his eyes when he brushes against their minds, he closes the door after him and heads down the stairs.

“Alright,” He says, quiet enough that he shouldn't wake any of the humans, but loud enough they can understand him. Save for Belle, of course. “I will feed you, if you'll allow Sam to sleep some more. It cannot be that hard a process.”

It isn't. He fills their bowls from the container of food on the counter, and steps back as they help themselves. He pauses, remembering how Alicia had gone over the care of kittens, and Castiel can sense they are hungry, their minds tiny and new but so so loud. Plaintive, still searching for their mother, but wanting the various humans they’ve laid claim to.

But it's supposed to be Magda, Claire, and Jack's responsibility to care for them.

“You know,” A voice speaks up from behind him, and when he turns, he spies Max leaning against the doorframe, an amused look on his face. “You just majorly overfed them. I get what you're trying to do, and it's sweet, but I doubt making Sam's cats fat is the way to his heart.” Max laughs, and steps away from the wall.

“Ah. That explains why they're so enthusiastic...” Castiel glances back at the trio, who are cramming kibble into their mouths as fast as can be. The deed is done, if Castiel tries to take any of it back, he's liable to lose a finger to their maws.

“Don't look so glum. Just ask Sam how much food they get before you feed them again.” Max claps Castiel on the shoulder, and starts to lead him back through the living room, careful not to wake his twin. Castiel goes without a fuss, curious about the natural born witch.

Dean and Sam had mentioned him once or twice, back home, but that was about it. Their impressions were positive, but Castiel still doesn't know what to make of him. 

Max lets go once they're in the hall, and heads towards the bathroom where the kittens are sequestered. He looks back at Castiel, brows raised, as if to ask if he's coming or not. Castiel follows, and slips in after Max.

The kittens make such a symphony of noise Castiel wonders if his efforts to let Sam sleep in are for naught, but the minute Max sets down a plate of canned food they grow silent save for the occasional greedy grumble as they try to get more than their siblings. Max leans against the wall, studying Castiel.

Castiel tries not to take offense. He knows he looks 'off' to most humans under normal circumstances, and he should be happy Sam has such a friend. But he has to fight not to bristle under the scrutiny.

“Yeah.” Max nods after a bit, his eyes roaming up and down Castiel's form. “You're pretty cute, in an uptight sort of way. Be fun to wreck you, and Sam could do worse.”

“That was almost a compliment.”

“Heh. I try. ...In all seriousness, kinda stings, Sam's been turning me down for years, I get why – I'm cis, and he's trans, and he's never had the highest of opinions of himself... but. If an angel fell for me, I can't say I'd turn him down.” Max nods some more, and offers Castiel his hand. “Let's try this again. I'm Max Banes, witch, hunter, devilishly handsome.”

“I didn't fall for Sam, though he was a part of it, it was a long and complicated process and..... oh. You mean fall as in fall in love, not fall from Heaven. ...I am not well versed in attraction, but you are far handsomer than the devil.” Castiel takes Max's hand in his own, and grips it firmly as they shake.

“Right, keep forgetting how literal you are. ...and that's good to know. Look, we both care about Sam, and Sam's a keeper... I'm more of a free spirit, right now at least... maybe someday I'll settle down, find a nice guy of my own. Just... take care of him, alright?”

“It will be my pleasure to.”

Max offers him another sad smile as he heads towards the door, careful not to step on any of the kittens.

“Shouldn't we clean their litter box before we go?”

“Nah. Gotta leave something for the kids to do.” 

They adjourn to the kitchen for coffee after that, or rather, Max does, and Castiel follows. Soon after the smell of it brewing rouses Alicia, and she sits down next to Castiel, head in her hands as she chases sleep from her eyes.

Castiel's facing the hall, so he notices Jack sneaking down the stairs. He chooses not to say anything, when five minutes later, he sneaks back up the stairs, sweater suspiciously wiggling and the curious minds of Jedi and Solo alight with questions. Such as where are they going? Jack smells nice, and oh, shirts are fun to chew, no, I’m chewing here, you chew there, Oh I am going to chew you now instead!

He probably should tell Jack to clean the litter box at least, especially when Claire sneaks down herself, ten minutes later, and leaves with her own kitten, the chore also obviously not done. It really isn't fair to leave it to Magda, though she doesn't appear to mind when she comes down herself, Elijah following after.

Elijah appears willing to tolerate the kitten today, though he's clearly not happy about it. Since Sam isn't awake, Magda helps herself to sugary cereal, her cat at her feet while the kitten is in her arms. She waves pleasantly at them all but doesn't say anything.

“Are you the only morning person in this house?” Castiel asks Max, his chin resting on his hand. Normally he'd consider Sam one, but he's not about to wake him up anytime soon.

Max only shrugs, and takes a long, loud sip of coffee. Right next to his twin's ear. She glares at him for it, and reaches out to take the mug from him. Max only laughs and makes himself another. After a pause, he makes Castiel one as well.

“I feel I must inform you it will take a considerable amount of coffee for it to affect me.” Castiel stares down at his drink, pondering his reflection. “But thank you.” Taking a long sip, Castiel watches as the minutes on the clock tick by.

It's a slow morning. He should be researching, Sam and Alicia having brought up a considerable amount of books from the basement, and he heard Sam making a call to other hunters, asking them for various tomes to aid in their search. 

But things feel safe enough for now. More than that, they feel calm, and Castiel chooses instead to cherish the peace. As various cats chase each other up and down the stairs, he can hear Jack watching one of his movies, very quietly whispering plot points to the kittens. The kittens, for their part, don’t quite understand but are happy to hear him speak. He smells very nice, and he’s fun to pounce.

Meanwhile, Magda and Claire are talking amongst themselves, and Castiel forces himself to give them privacy. Despite how Elijah's displeasure over Killer and Tailchaser is loud enough he wonders how the humans don't hear it.

Taking another sip of his coffee, he doubts he gets what Max gets from it, but the temperature is soothing to his throat. And it's fun to watch the twins silently bickering.

The calm is broken as barking comes from the front of the house, and Castiel pulls himself to his full height. It's Dean. It must be. While this Dean isn't the one he shared – no, shares, even beyond death – a bond with, he's still Dean. 

Their kinship is different, tiny, but there is so much room for it to grow. Castiel is out the door before he even realizes what he's doing, and he laughs as he's slobbered on by not one but two dogs. 

He laughs even harder when he's pushed down onto the dirt by both of them, snouts and noses everywhere as they take in his scent. It seems he's family now. That shouldn't be as flattering as it really is.

While he still doesn't quite understand how this universe can have Winchesters who practically run a zoo, or at least a pet shop, Castiel would rather be here with friends he has to relearn than alone once more. That, and the Colonel appears to like him, now that he smells more like Sam. Although he has to tap the dog on his snout and shake his head.

“Not in front of everyone, please.” 

The dog tilts his head first to the left, then the right, and Slater follows suit. Not that Castiel can blame them, as he's the only one who can understand what they're saying. But - 

“It's the principle of the thing.”

“Oh my gosh you can talk to animals? That's so cool! Hi, I'm Charlie.” And there she is, leaning down to offer him a hand up. One of the many people, many allies he failed to save. She's different, different even from the apocalypse world version of herself.

Her hair is long, and braided back in one long plait. She's wearing beat up jeans, a shirt with a slogan of some sort, a vest with flowers embroidered on it over that, and an ancient leather messenger bag is thrown over one shoulder. All along both her bag and her jeans are iron on patches, all relating to various entertainment franchises.

All in all, she looks like a mix between a nerd and a hippie, as Dean would say. As for Dean himself, he's laughing at the two of them. More so himself than Charlie, he surmises, as he takes her hand and lets himself be pulled up.

He doesn't need the help, but - 

“Charlie. It is so good to meet you. Again, I mean. Well I suppose this must be the first time for you, but for me this is the third time I am meeting you for the first time. I promise I will not let you die, not again.” Castiel's arms are open and around Charlie before he knows what he's doing. That's happening a lot lately.

She isn't hugging back, and he begins to frown, until she laughs. Awkwardly patting him on the back at first, she then gives him a real hug before pulling away. The smile on her face is a little unsure, but she's still trying. Castiel can appreciate that.

“You're about as awkward as I am, huh? But just as earnest!” Charlie beams at him once more, and fiddles with the ends of her hair. “I see why Sam's with you. You better treat him right, or else! ...Or else I'll uh... think of something... Oh God, please don't smite me Mister Angel man...”

“Charlie, I would never-”

“Wait what?” Dean turns back to them, his hand on the door. “You're dating Sammy now? ...Dang Cas, I know I told you to look out for him, but dude. That’s not what I meant!”

“You... don't approve then?”

Dean studies him for a moment, arms folding over his chest as he rocks back and forth on his feet. “Eh. It's not up to me in the end... But I guess if Sammy has to be with a guy, you're nice enough. But what Charlie said goes double for me – I'm not afraid of any smiting or anything.”

“No. You never have been.” Castiel sounds wistful even to himself, and he shakes his head as he falls into step beside Charlie, heading to the door. “We haven't found much, and Sam is still asleep, but-”

“He's what? It's almost ten am!” Dean cuts Castiel off once more, and throws open the door so hard it bangs against the wall loud enough even Castiel winces. “Sammy! Rise and fucking shine!” With that, Dean is bounding up the stairs two at a time, loud and thunderous.

Castiel lets Charlie enter the house first, and holds open the door as the dogs enter after. He closes the door behind him, and chews on his lip as he glances towards the upstairs bedroom. Should he?

“I wouldn't.” Max calls out from the kitchen, coffee mug half to his lips. 

“I really wouldn't.” Alicia nods, tossing her hair over one shoulder as she raises a hand. “Hello, Charlie. It's been awhile, hasn't it?”

“Alicia!” Charlie steps on past Castiel into the kitchen, and scoots out a chair so she can sit down next to Alicia. She runs her hand over her hair no less than three times as she twists back and forth on her perch, her face turning a faint pink. “It really has... so... what have you been up to?”

Max catches Castiel's eyes, and gives him a long, exaggerated eye roll before standing up and heading to the living room to study once more. But Castiel notices the soft way he looks back at his twin, a smile on his face as he passes by him.

From upstairs, Castiel can hear various curses being shouted between the two brothers. But he knows it will be alright when he hears:

“Jerk!”

“Bitch.”

“I will never understand them.” Castiel takes a seat on the lowest rung of the stairs. A cat claims his lap, he's not sure which one it is, there are so **many** now. He reaches one hand down to pet it, while the other finds place in between Slater's ears, as the dog has decided Castiel needs canine company. “Not even if I outlive the sun... but I love them so very, very much.” 

He turns a smile towards the ceiling. The crashing and the cursing are music to his ears. And he knows he will do anything and everything in his power to protect his new home. Regardless of the cost.

~

The next few days fall into a comfortable routine of research, food prepared by Dean or by a local take out place, and easy camaraderie. Only broken up by kitten breaks, and the occasional hike through the woods, ostensibly to check the warding, but Dean's 'hunting partners' enjoy the exercise. Still, they get no closer than before, only a few options on the table.

“This mentions something about an Angel Tablet?” Charlie holds up a book, her other hand tapping absently on her laptop.

“No.” Castiel cuts her off before she even gets started, shaking his head. “Trust me, nothing good will come of that, nor the Demon Tablet. It's all lies. Or at least, half truths at best.”

“Demon Tablet?” Dean pokes his head out of the kitchen, and sniffles loud and long, directing a pointed look at Sam, who rolls his eyes and tosses Dean a bottle of benadryl. “That sounds promising.”

“Dean. Please, for once if your life listen to me, in my universe the Demon Tablet almost got Sam killed-”

“Alright, alright,” Dean downs a few pills dry, and rubs at his nose. “I'm just getting tired of going nowhere, and sleeping on a cot aint helpin'. And don't think I haven't noticed the dark eyes, Sammy.”

“I'm fine Dean.” Sam refuses to look at his brother, nor at Castiel, when he leans forward to place a hand on Sam's brow. 

He's warm, and Dean's right, he is getting bags under his eyes. Again. While Sam hasn't said anything, He's woken up at least twice during the night the past few evenings, eventually giving up on sleep around the early morning hours.

Castiel isn't sure if Lucifer's gotten past his wardings, or if Sam's having unrelated visions. Perhaps the various mental illnesses Castiel's sure Sam has and in typical Winchester fashion doesn't address are rearing their ugly heads again. 

All in all, Sam's not the only one who's getting tired. The house is far from small, but with nine animals, seven humans or near enough, and one angel it's getting a little crowded. Everyone's trying to keep in good spirits, but Castiel knows they're growing weary.

Sam's the only one who's showing it is all.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean enters the living room, which has quickly become research central, books and various notes spread out everywhere. He's got a towel thrown over one arm, and his phone in his hand, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth as he taps on the screen. “We're running a little low on food, again-”

“Hey! If you didn't make such big meals-” Sam starts, standing up, but he sways on his feet, and nearly falls, if not for how Castiel stands up to steady him. He turns a grateful, if very tired smile towards his lover. “Thanks...”

“Right. You’re ‘fine’. Sure. I totally believe you, Sammy. ...Point is,” Dean continues, after sharing a worried look with Castiel over Sam's head. “Point is, I'm going to take Princess here upstairs and try and get him to take a nap.”

“Dean, I told you, I’m fine -”

“Yeah you're really not.” Dean shoves his phone in his pocket, and tosses Castiel his keys. “I put in an order for a couple pizzas, yes Sam I ordered a salad too don't give me that look – and I want you to pick up a pie from the grocery store. Actually, make it two. Apple and Cherry, if they got it.”

“You're trusting me with the Impala?” Castiel blinks, looking down at the keys in his hands. From the look on Dean's face, he can tell he's not happy about the situation either, but doesn't want to leave Sam alone.

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugs, and if Castiel's not mistaken, there's a miniscule blush on his face. But before he can lean closer to double check, Dean's pulling Sam from his arms, and leading him up the stairs. It speaks volumes to how tired he is that Sam doesn't struggle.

He does, however, complain.

“Dean seriously I'm not a child.” 

“Well you're sure acting like one. C'mon, it'll be fun, I'll braid your hair and you can talk about boys while I pretend to be interested.”

“Dean. Dean!”

Castiel has to admit, Sam really is acting like a child. Then again, all of them are children compared to himself.

“Not a scratch Cas! Not. A. Scratch!” Dean calls down from the stairs, followed up by a curse as Sam's two favorite cats dash into the bedroom before Dean can shut them out. “You and your damn cats!”

He shakes his head, and chooses to ignore the arguing he can hear going on. Instead, Castiel turns to the group, and raises the keys aloft. 

“Would anyone like to come with me?” Max waves him off, while Charlie doesn't even appear to hear the question, she's leaning together with Alicia, the both of them engrossed in an old, leather bound book. Magda, buried in cats and both of Dean's dogs, shakes her head. Which leaves - “Claire? Jack?”

“I'm a little worried about stepping outside the wards myself, but thank you Castiel.” Jack offers him a sad smile, before looking back down at his book once more. He has a kitten on each shoulder, one of which is chewing his hair, while the other snores loudly in Jack's ear.

Castiel feels something welling in his chest, though he chooses to ignore it. Often, he wishes Kelly could be here to see the kind man Jack is becoming. 

“Claire?” He asks again, and he tries to prepare himself for disappointment. She's already given him so much, more than he has any right to ask, and -

“Yeah, sure.”

Oh. Nevermind then.

Claire stands up from where she's sitting, setting down the string she'd been waving around for Killer. Castiel still wishes she would reconsider that name, though from the way the kitten is growling and attacking the discarded toy, maybe it's fitting.

She follows behind him as he leaves the house, no words passing between them. But really, what can be said? Claire is doing much better, having fallen into a routine here, and her anger is so much less. Much of that Castiel thanks Magda for. 

Killer the calico also helps, and he's grateful to Sam for agreeing to let the kittens stay. As well as reaching out to her. He just wishes that... well, it doesn't matter what Castiel wishes. This is the reality he lives in, now.

He wonders if this world has a Kaia, but in the end maybe it's best he doesn't try to find her. From the way Jack tells the story, finding Kaia ended her life. And... well. Magda and Claire might be young, but they are happy.

Castiel hopes wherever this world's equivalent to Kaia is, that she's happy too. With how things seem brighter, and less supernaturally active here, it's not that far fetched. He finds himself wishing her peaceful dreams.

He slips into the front seat, and Claire takes the passenger. The Impala isn't that different from the one he's used to, dog hair and dog blankets or not. A rock tune from the seventies fills the car when Castiel turns the key, and it feels like home when he heads onto the streets.

Now and again, he glances at Claire as he drives along the road, but she's looking out the window. The silence they fall into is a companionable one at least. Broken only by the changing songs on the cassette tape.

Soon enough, he's at the pizza parlor, and Claire makes no move to leave while he heads inside. Despite the danger waiting down below, Castiel has to admit the town is peaceful. Despite the terrible circumstances he found himself in the last time he was in Blue Earth.

But that never happened here, now did it? He hopes to keep it that way, smiling as the teenager behind the counter hands him a stack of pizza boxes. 

It seems Castiel's whole life has become averting apocalypses. Why should leaving his home dimension change that? It hadn't last time, either.

“So.” Castiel says, once he has the pizza's settled in the back seat, and starts the car once more. “Pie.”

“Yeah. I don't get the pie thing – Dean's made pie twice since being here, and he wants us to pick up a few more?”

“The man likes pie. Almost worships it, really.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Claire snorts, still looking out the window. “What with you being an angel and all.”

“...Well. I suppose there are worse things to worship, and...” He sighs, shaking his head. “You of all people must understand that Heaven isn't all it's cracked up to be.”

“And angels hurt people.”

“Claire, I'm-”

“You don't have to say you're sorry again. I get it. ...I don't even really hate her, you know?” Claire turns to him then, a sad smile on her face. “If anything... I think I feel sorry for her... and you, too. Don't get me wrong, if she ever tries to take possession of me again, I'll kill her myself, but... you're a good guy, Cas. A goof, and it's weird seeing my father whenever you look at me but... you try to fix your mistakes at least.”

She shrugs, and leans on the window, her eyes closing.

“It's more than she ever did. Little Soldier, always marching to Heaven's tune... but she thought she was doing the right thing.”

“So did I, once upon a time.” Castiel pulls into the parking lot of a grocery store, figuring that it'll have a bakery. “Sometimes I wonder if I've changed at all, or if I just follow a different tune now...” He puts the car in park, and rests his hands on the steering wheel. He knows he should head inside, and give Claire some privacy, but...

He turns his head to look at her. She might not be the same girl whose life he ruined, and took too long to make it up to, but she's still Claire. Maybe he's confusing Jimmy's feelings with his own, but he feels responsible for her – and so unbelievably proud. 

“You know-”

“Cas. It's fine. Well, it's not fine, but you don't have to look at me like I'm some wounded little Bambi. What happened to me sucks, and... I get that you're not that different from her, either, but... I chose to stay with you, don't I? And you have your own life, your own tune. You like to follow but I've seen you tell Sam he's an idiot. Or do you really think any of this-” Claire waves her hands as she rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Would have happened if you hadn't yelled at him? Told us about it? Just chill, would you?”

With that said, Claire leaves the car, slamming the door hard enough Castiel winces. He hopes that didn't damage the Impala, because Dean's bound to notice. But she's right. He does have a tendency to overthink things.

He follows after her, fumbling in his pockets for Dean's credit card. Once Sam is safe, he will have to find his own phone, and his own credit cards, he really will. The money Mary and the others gave them isn't depleted, far from it, but Castiel is getting tired of depending on others.

The grocery store is quaint, but it does have a bakery section. He finds the two requested pies with ease, and on a whim, adds a tray of brownies and a box of cookies as well. Dean will complain, but two pies is hardly enough for seven people. Especially when one of those people is Dean Winchester.

Claire finds him when he reaches the register, and falls into step behind him after he pays for the items. They don't speak as they head back to the car, but that's alright. She's right, he does need to stop worrying so much.

Or maybe he should worry more, as suddenly he feels an intense, almost oppressive power in front of him.

“Hiya, Cassie!” A woman appears in a flash of light, and she blows a bubble, popping it right next to Castiel's ear. “Didn't I tell you to stay out of Heaven's business?”

“Gabriel.” The bags are dropped to the ground as he pulls out his angel blade, one arm thrown out in front of Claire. “You found a new vessel I see.”

“Ah, this sweet thing?” He runs his hands along the woman's form, and Castiel struggles to keep his composure as Claire gasps behind him. Though perhaps Castiel should be using feminine pronouns for Gabriel, as this is the second female vessel he's seen Gabriel in. 

As if reading his thoughts, Gabriel grins wide at them both.

“Heh. Don't worry about it, I cycle through vessels pretty frequently. The last one thinks it was a weird dream, and I'm betting Miss Waitress here has never had such an exciting time in her life.”

“Isn't that dangerous? You're an Archangel, you could seriously damage-”

“Relax, Cas-a-bash. I don't take them for too long, it upset **my** Castiel if I hurt any of her precious humans.” Gabriel says the word with such ownership, and she places her hands on her hips, giving him an unamused look.

Castiel can practically feel Claire's panic from behind him. It only grows when there's another flash of light, followed by a familiar feeling. He's still out of tune, still so weak, but he recognizes the resonance of his alternate self.

Without hesitating, he passes the angel blade to Claire.

“If she gets near you, stab her with this. It can kill angels.” He moves further in front of her, despite being now defenseless. “It won't work on Archangels, so don't try. Just run.” He raises his fists, prepared to make his final stand.

He hopes Claire will tell Sam that he tried to return to him. 

“Why would we want to hurt you?” His alternate self cocks her head to the side. 

She's taken a vessel very similar to all they have both chosen. Blue eyes, brown hair. Probably close in age to Gabriel's vessel.

Claire was an unusual choice for them both, with her blonde locks, but Castiel had always chosen women before Jimmy. It seems his alternate self still feels more female than anything. He wonders if that would have remained true of himself, if he hadn't grown to feel at home inside of Jimmy's form.

But then, he had always shared a vessel with a human soul before.

His alternate self crosses over to Gabriel, and links hands with the archangel. Castiel finds himself mirroring her expression, because Gabriel allows it. Seems fond of it even, as though it's familiar.

“Aw, Cassie. I wanted to scare him a little more.” Gabriel pouts, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his alternate self's brow. She follows it up with another, on her mouth this time.

Oh. Oh. Well that's... unexpected. He finds himself relaxing, which is a mistake, because the instant he does, Gabriel darts forward and grabs him around his middle, and with a whoosh of wings and a long lost, familiar feeling, Castiel knows he's been taken away.

At least they left Claire alone...

~

This won't be the first time he's died, but Castiel suspects that it will be the first time it's permanent. God has no love for him here, not that what God felt for Castiel could really be called love in the first place. While the Winchesters are still very much themselves, they have far less cosmic ties... and he hopes Jack knows better than to try and bring him back. Or they'll have to run again, Castiel's not sure they can this time.

He closes his eyes and waits for the blade which will end his life. Several minutes pass, and Castiel slowly opens them when it doesn't come.

The sight that greets him isn't at all what he expects. It's not the bright white of heaven, not a dingy dungeon either. The floor beneath him is plush and red, while the walls are painted pink. Loud music with sexual lyrics pumps through the air around them, and women are dancing on a stage in various states of undress.

“...You took me to a strip club?” Castiel pauses, and shakes his head. He shouldn't be surprised, this is still Gabriel, and yet... “You couldn't let me have a more dignified death? At least think of the women, they don't deserve to be traumatized by this.”

“I'm not going to kill you, Cas.” Gabriel grins from beside him, and waves her hand at a staff member. They discuss something in hushed tones, and before Castiel can process what's been said, he's gripped firmly on either arm.

His alternate self stares stonily ahead, and only releases him when they come to a private room. The decor isn't much better inside, and the lock clicking behind them makes Castiel gulp. But when Gabriel plops down into a heart shaped couch, and pats the space beside her, he goes without a fuss.

The other Castiel stands against the door and draws her angel blade.

“Put it away, Cassie.” Gabriel makes a shooing motion at her, and she obeys, though she does frown at Gabriel for it. “Good girl. Now, Castiel... the other one. This is going to get so confusing, I'm just going to call you... eh.... Lollipop.”

“What?” Castiel tilts his head, his mouth hanging open, but he lets out a long sigh after a few minutes. He feels he should argue, but, “Fine. Sure. Whatever. 'Lollipop'. That works.” 

Despite how closed off Gabriel was when he first met her, she's starting to act more like the brother he left behind. Which reminds him, he really should ask -

“Gabriel, I was wondering -”

“Call me Gabe. It saves time.”

“It's... two extra syllables...” Castiel shrugs, “But as you wish. The Gabriel in my universe sticks to a male vessel, and so far-”

“I'm guessing alt-me is in the Loki Model? I really miss that vessel. It had charm, pizazz. But like I told you, I switch vessels every few weeks. Keeps 'em from burning out.” 

“That's not what-”

“Yeah yeah I get where you're going, since you're dating a trans guy and all. Pronouns, right? I don't care, use whatever. Unlike Cassie here, I switch up vessel genders. Both are fun, if you know what I mean.” Gabriel wiggles her eyebrows, and runs her hands along her vessels thighs.

It makes Castiel distinctly uncomfortable. He knows he's being hypocritical, he knows that, but at least Jimmy wasn't present when Castiel had sexual relations. ...Though perhaps that's not any better, considering what happened to him and how Castiel has failed and continues to fail Jimmy's family, even in a new universe.

He glances at the door, where his alternate self is still standing, stock still and staring straight ahead. He remembers times like that, when he may as well have been part of the scenery. It was... peaceful, in a way. Free will … it's still so hard, even now.

And yet he never wants to be like her. Never, ever again.

“Or maybe you don't know what I mean.” Gabriel shrugs, and leans back further against the couch. She stretches her legs out in front of her, and tosses him a carefree grin. “You can stop looking at me like that, y'know. Way I hear it, you're no saint either. And if it makes you feel better, these two were lovers before we took them as our vessels.”

“That... does make me feel better, but -”

“How are you even an angel? Fine, whatever, look – I promise I'll make Cassie here let her vessel go when I leave mine, alright? Pinkie-swear and everything.” She holds out her hand, the smallest finger extended.

“Ah. The promise young children do. Is it actually binding, or-”

“'Kay. Your naivety is starting to get boring.” Gabriel snaps her fingers, and suddenly she's holding a flute of wine. 

So is he, for that matter. When he looks over at his counterpart, she has a party hat on her head. And for once, there's the smallest of smiles on her face.

“For the record I find you more confusing than any human I have ever met, Gabriel.”

“Taking that as a compliment.” She takes a deep sip of her wine, and flicks him off at the same time. “I do love humans, but I don't want to be one.”

“You love humans?”

“Of course I do. Why do you think I came back? Why do you think I convinced Mikey and Raphie to call off the apocalypse? Why do you think I ordered Cassie and her garrison to eradicate all the abominations and Lucifer loyalists they could?” She grows louder as she speaks, until she's almost shouting, and Castiel can tell she means each word.

But still.

“It wasn't their fault their parents made deals with Azazel.”

“You're just saying that because you're banging Lucy's true vessel.” Gabriel swirls her drink in her hands, watching the liquid sway.

“You... know about Sam?”

“Of course I know about Sam.” She rolls her eyes, and stands up, crossing over to his counterpart. “Cassie here asked me to hide him from Heavens site, which I did, though maybe I shouldn't have, since this whole Lucifer thing has run unchecked...”

“Thank you, Gabriel.” His counterpart bows her head, but doesn't meet Gabriel's eyes.

“Why?” Castiel gets up himself, though Gabriel steps in front of him before he can get too close to his counterpart. He sighs. “Heavenly politics are the one thing I don't miss about home. You do realize I'm the only one here who's unarmed?”

“Somehow I doubt that. I might not have been able to be myself when we first met, but if even half of what you said is true, you don't need a blade to harm either of us. So forgive me if I'm not letting you near my Cassie, lollipop.”

“You're the ones who've kidnapped me.”

“Not to harm you.” Gabriel rolls her eyes again, and she looks terribly offended at the suggestion. “Just to talk. I might play nice with my brothers now and all, but I still like my vices, and save for a few boltholes like this one, they're always watching. It gets old.”

Castiel brings his hand to his head and squeezes his temples. It should be impossible, and yet - “You are giving me a worse headache than the Winchesters ever have. Any of them I have known. Combined. I did mention I don't miss Heaven's politics, correct?”

“Right, right, ask me if I care.”

“Look.” Castiel tries to meet the other Castiel’s eyes. He doesn't quite succeed, but he has to know. “Why did you ask Gabriel to spare Sam? Why does Heaven think he's dead... Why... Why do you care at all? You haven't rebelled against Heaven, as I have, but-”

“Haven't I?” She cuts him off, finally meeting his eyes. “And have you, really? You speak as though you are homesick, but you stay with the humans out of choice. You... have taken one as a lover, and are raising several as though they are your own children. I... I know you. You're me. I've always considered myself as humanities shepherd, but we're not meant to be among them, and we both know it.”

“What does that matter?!” Castiel brushes past Gabriel, or perhaps she lets him, and he moves to place his hands on his alternate self’s shoulders. “We... I might be an angel, but if you truly think we're so similar, then you know there has always been something wrong with us. Something off. Humans might have been given the gift of free will, but we have the capability of it too. You have to know that. Otherwise, why would you save Sam?”

“I...” She flushes, the slightest bit, as she averts her gaze. It's gone almost as soon as it happens, his counterpart holding herself back from her vessel like he used to do. “At first it was because Jimmy did not wish to kill a child. I agreed to let him grow up… the second time we met? He was afraid to die. But he didn't fight me... he almost welcomed it. Felt he deserved it, for what he'd done. But he'd... he'd killed his father to save his brother, and surely that was just? Yet he believed he would go to hell, that his actions warranted it. I... he didn't blame me at all. Didn't look at me as if I was a killer... didn't hate me for it, like all the others, didn't curse me for it like the demons. ...His soul was tainted by the blood, but it shone so bright...”

She's shaking now, and her angel blade clatters to the floor as she raises her hands to her face.

“How could I? After all of that, how could I?” His counterpart composes herself, hands going down to her sides once more. “Surely just one living couldn't hurt? He was wounded, irreparably so, until you healed him. I thought... if Sam was hidden from site, Lucifer would never want him... that he couldn't get into trouble.”

“...I pity you. You're so close to understanding, but you're not quite there. And you never will be, will you? You see nothing wrong with how you treated Claire, how you burned through Jimmy... How you killed all those people.” Castiel sighs. “And I can't even blame you for it, I was the same up until...”

Gabriel inserts herself between them both once more.

“Hey, I like Cassie, broken or not, so shush your mouth, Lollipop.” Gabriel snaps her fingers again, and her wine flute is replaced with a large sucker, which she licks three times before biting into it. The candy shatters beneath her teeth.

Castiel steps back, message received loud and clear.

“And y'know what, Lollipop? Cassie here's the one who saved Sam, in the end. I was fine with killing him. Hell, I'm fine with him dying right now, that would solve the whole problem before it even starts!” She stops her rant when his counterpart places her hand on Gabriel's shoulder. With a sigh, Gabriel tosses her hair over her shoulder. “But Cassie's soft hearted. She's the one who wanted me to reach out towards you. And she's the only reason I'm helping at all.”

“Why?” He tries to catch the other Castiel’s eyes once more. 

“...I don't like killing. It is sometimes necessary, and always just. But. Sam is kind, and I... I can't be you. But I admire you just the same. So... I want to help. Being a soldier, being part of the host – it's all I've ever known. It's all I've ever wanted...”

“Except for me, right babe?”

She actually laughs at that, and offers Gabriel the smallest of nods.

“But. When I see you, when I hear what you've been through... sometimes I wonder if I could have more.”

“You could, if you'd only try.”

“This **is** me trying. I won't be you, Lollipop.” Her nose wrinkles at the moniker, like she's as unsure of it as he himself is, but she continues on, “I am loyal. Loyalty doesn't mean following blindly.”

“I think you're just afraid of being reset again.”

“If it is needed, I will submit willingly.” She shrugs. “But humanity has managed with minimal guidance for a long time now. There are no more demons loyal to Lucifer anymore. Maybe someday this plot will resurface, but for now, they are safe. I'd like to keep it that way. Without further bloodshed.”

“If it's forgiveness you're looking for, absolution, or revelation: I can give you none of those. But... I can't hate you, either.” It's hard, but Castiel makes himself look away from her. He wars with himself, part of him thinking he needs to keep going, keep trying to explain to her why she's wrong. 

This feels like a chance to tell his past self why he's wrong, to correct his mistakes. But Castiel has to stop himself from going down that line of thought. She is him, and the reverse, but they're not the same. He steps away from them further, and rubs at his temples.

He doesn't have enough grace to heal himself of his headache. 

“You mentioned you wish to help us.” Castiel glances back at them both, biting his lip. “How?”

“Cas came up with the idea, huh babe?” Gabriel leans over and kisses her cheek again, laughing all the while. “See, Cassie here noticed you don't have much grace left, and you're not resonating on the same frequency as the rest of us, but you two can sense each other. Right?”

“That seems to be the case, yes.” Much as Castiel hates to admit it.

“You have even less grace than before.” His counterpart scolds him. 

Castiel only shrugs in response. He has no regrets.

“Y'know if you didn't hand out healing willy nilly you wouldn't even need our help.” Gabriel lets out a little chuckle when Castiel glares at her, and spreads her arms wide. “Since you're not connected to the host here, and can't be, I can't give you a power boost. But I can give Cassie one.”

Gabriel waggles her eyebrows at him, and Castiel tilts his head at her in confusion. She seems put out that he doesn't understand, rolling her eyes, before dipping his counterpart in her arms. The kiss that follows is so deep and intimate that Castiel almost feels as though he should look away, and yet he cannot.

Grace, shining bright and brilliant flows through the kiss, from Gabriel to his counterpart, and even though he's disconnected from the heavenly frequencies that make up this world he can feel it down to his very essence. Or perhaps it's the connection he has with the Castiel of this world, for she's pulling away, faintly glowing as she offers yet another small smile to her love.

Castiel doubts he will ever understand them, or how this came to be, but they **do** love each other. He finds himself happy for her, as much as he wishes he could sway her to his side. Still, as she steps forward to him, he backs away.

“Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you.” Her arms wrap around him, and Castiel has a moment of faint horror that she's going to share grace the same way she received it – but then her arms tighten, and – oh.

It's alien, almost burns, but it's freely given and so close to his own power that when the borrowed grace flows over and then into him Castiel accepts it gratefully. He becomes almost drunk on the power, until he remembers – Sam. This is for Sam.

She lets go, and he stumbles backwards onto the couch.

“Still hate us, Lollipop?” Gabriel's grinning down at him. “Quite the buzz, huh? You'd better hope we never see each other again, 'cause if we do, I think I'll kill ya. You’re fucking annoying and I hate you. Anyway, Have a nice life, Lollipop. Kiss Sammykins for me!” She laughs again, and with a snap of her fingers and the rush of wings, the world moves around Castiel.

When it settles, Castiel finds he's no longer in the plush backroom of an unknown strip club. He's sitting, flat on his ass, on the ground outside of the Winchester home. Before he has a chance to process everything, there comes a rush of voices.

Claire, Sam, Jack, even Magda are all calling his name as they rush over towards him. After them come the others, even the ones who barely know him, like Charlie – all are concerned.

It occurs to Castiel then, as Sam gathers him up in his arms, alternating between scolding and relief at his continued existence, that he really does belong here. 

This isn't the home he ever thought he'd find. But it's his just the same. Their questions, their concern, it pours over him. He’s so - he can’t.

“Alright. Back up guys, I’m taking him upstairs, he needs to rest.” Sam. Concerned, for him, he’s loved, he’s - “It’ll be okay Cas. Just breath.”

Right. Breath. He doesn’t need to, but, he finds he really, really needs to at this moment in time. In, out. Everything blurs.

He’s safe. He’s home. He’s loved.

~

Castiel is an angel, and he only wishes to be an angel. Despite all that, and the lengths he's gone to through the years to remain as such, sometimes... sometimes Castiel does envy the humans. Or, he supposes, as he watches Sam sleep, from the window seat, two cats and one wayward kitten in his lap, it's not exactly envy, either.

Dreams were as terrifying as they were beautiful, and he's so close to what he once was now, that he might join Sam in his. He doubts Sam dreams of fishing, and is curious what peaceful places reside in his lover's mind. But he won't, Sam needs his rest, and he's not sure he's up to holding Lucifer off, if the wards are failing. 

Not yet, at least. Soon, though. Soon Lucifer will be locked away forever, without any trace of him able to escape the cage and torment others. Especially the one Castiel's watching so closely.

Sam tugs a pillow closer to himself, and mumbles sleepily. 

Castiel counts himself lucky that this time, it won't take Sam's sacrifice to lock Lucifer away. He's suffered enough. 

His hands pass over fur, though the various felines are as deep in slumber as Sam is. Castiel bites back a sigh. Mostly, he envies how the night will pass by for the others, while he remains ever watchful.

Grace, gifted this time and not stolen, buzzes underneath his skin. He can almost make out the heavenly host with how it sings within him, but he knows that's not for him. Not anymore. Neither is the grace, not really.

It's to help Sam. Helping Sam will help all of them, with Lucifer unable to gain a foothold on Earth, unable to gain a host through slow, relentless mental torture. Jack will finally be safe, and all of them can rest.

Maybe once this is all over, Castiel can figure out what life looks like when he isn't on the run, from one apocalypse to the next. Rest sounds so foreign... yet, nice.

Though rest is certainly escaping Castiel now. His hand passes over a cat once more, until sleepy blue eyes open, and Belle hops down to join Sam on the bed. Crow remains, as well as one of the kittens – he's not sure if it's Jedi or Solo, they're too young to really take to their human given names yet.

The night drags on and on.

Eventually however, dawn breaks over Sam's face, and he grumbles to wakefulness, hair sticking every which way and drool drying on his chin. Castiel is polite enough not to laugh.

“Good morning.” He greets him with a nod of his head, and Sam grumbles something in reply. When he lays his head back on the pillow, Castiel has to bite back a laugh. 

He's always known Sam to be a morning person, and this version of him is no different. But it seems Sam wants to sleep in today. Castiel supposes he can't blame him – after the upset of last night, and the hours Castiel had spent reassuring everyone he was fine, and that they could maybe trust Gabriel, they'd finally found a ritual which showed promise.

It had taken Dean, Charlie, and Alicia to convince Sam to wait until morning. Still, Sam hadn't fallen asleep until well after lights out, the two of them talking into the early morning hours. Until Dean had stomped up the stairs and thrown a shoe at them, telling them some people needed their beauty rest.

Dean hadn't appreciated Sam's jibe about Dean needing at least a week of it. Maybe a month. No, a year at least.

But Dean's beauty routine is neither here nor there. Crow hops down from Castiel's lap, and joins Belle on the bed, the two of them entering what must be a familiar routine of meowing and chewing on Sam's hair. 

Castiel brings a hand to his face to stifle another laugh. It's all so homey, so domestic, that a part of him longs for a future filled with such mornings. But first.

“Sam, you'd better get up. The ritual's going to take some time to prepare.” Castiel pulls himself to his feet, cradling Jedi or Solo, he's still not sure which to his chest, as he heads towards the bed.

Sam tugs the pillow over his head and grumbles ever more.

“Alright, I'll go feed them, then.” At the mention of food, the two cats take off towards the door, and Castiel can make out even more paws thundering down the stairs. Followed up by Dean cursing.

He only has a few hours of peace left, and he knows he'll have to cherish them. When this is over and done with, Castiel isn't sure what will be on the other side.

Castiel has his hopes, of course, but the only thing that can be certain is the **un** certainty of the future. It's a lesson of humanity he's yet to grapple with.

But that's for later. Now, he has several felines to feed. As well as wrangle an angry human.

~

Lambs blood, witches tears. Mixed together, with various herbs and a few spell ingredients Castiel doesn't want to know how the Banes came across, all tossed into a bowl, stirred with angel feathers offered up by himself. Though he has few to spare, these days.

Alicia is drawing a protective border around Castiel and Sam, while Dean and Charlie remain at the edges. Dean's tapping his foot, and worrying at his lip, as he tries to focus on anything but the three of them in the middle of the circle. 

He'd wanted – no, argued to be part of this, but even Max is going to have to step aside soon enough. The fewer people involved in this, the better. Much as Castiel wishes it wasn't so.

He wishes many things, really. But as Sam's hands intertwine with his, Castiel takes a deep breath and tosses those wishes aside. Here and now, he has a job to do. More than that, this isn't a duty. It's a gift, a second chance, and Castiel is going to use it wisely.

Max swirls a feather around the bowl one more time, and it disappears – disintegrating into the mixture. When it does, Max casts a look at Sam, almost as if he wishes to say something, maybe only to impart luck, but he rises to his feet instead, and leaves the circle.

It's up to them now. Catching Sam's eyes, he joins him a nod, and they begin chanting together. With each word, a mixture of latin and enochian, with some old english thrown in, the mixture grows brighter and brighter, until Sam has to close his eyes.

Castiel does no such thing, though he knows he'll have to heal his vessel later. He can't look away. Finally, when the last word leaves their lips, he lets go of Sam's hands, and places his own above the bowl.

The grace leaves him easily, the mixture growing impossibly brighter. Faintly, from the edges of the circle, he can hear Dean commentating, followed by Charlie shushing him. Castiel spares a moment to be grateful Claire had actually listened to him, and taken Jack and Magda for a drive while they did this.

Sam blindly reaches forward, his hands dipping into the bowl, and the mixture races up his arms, down his nostrils and throat, and Sam's eyes fly open. Castiel doesn't know what over takes him then, it isn't part of the plan, but the grace calls to him, and he reaches out, taking Sam's hand in his own, and - 

He can feel Sam's soul crying out to him, so small, yet so colossal in it's capabilities. Castiel forgets everything and everyone else, and wraps his wings around it, the world fading around them both. He feels more than realizes what he's doing, as his head rests against Sam's, the two of them closing their eyes as the spell overtakes them.

Even fainter than before, he can hear the others talking, trying to puzzle out what's happening, but it's muffled, growing ever muted as Castiel falls down, down – and stops abruptly.

The scenery changes, rolls from one place to the next. A homegrown, haphazard library he recognizes, though some of it has changed over the years and the universes. Castiel knows Singer Salvage well. As soon as it settles, it's gone again, changing more and more.

The Impala. A motel room, followed by another. Finally it settles on a lake, and Castiel rushes forward to the figure he can see sitting on the shore before it can change again.

“Sam?” Castiel goes to his knees, and wraps his arms around him. He knows this isn't real, that somehow they're in Sam's mind, but he doesn't know how. “This... isn't supposed to happen.”

“Y-yeah...” Sam shivers in his hold. “I... damn Cas, you love me that much?” He laughs, settling his head on Castiel's chest. “I can feel it... not like, a vulcan mind meld or whatever, but your grace... it's so warm...”

“But you're shivering...”

Sam laughs again, and it begins to alarm Castiel, so he calls forth what he can of his wings, and wraps them around Sam, too. To his surprise, Sam reaches up, and caresses a feather.

“Beautiful...”

“Not as such. I used to be much more than I am now... I could take you anywhere in the world you wished, but with these damaged wings, I'm afraid we're stuck with a more human mode of transportation.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Isn't it?” A new voice calls out, and the two of them turn as one to face the stranger.

It's Sam but it isn't. He's dressed all in white, and shadows cross his face. Cold seeps from his very being, and all at once Castiel knows who this is.

“Leave. Sam is not, and never has been yours.”

“We both know that's a lie. Sam's been prophesied as mine since I was cast out by my brethren. It's not my fault that Heaven walked back on their part of the deal.”

“Shut up.” Sam speaks now, through gritted teeth. With a deep breath, he pulls out of Castiel's hold. Though he notes, with some satisfaction, that Sam keeps his hand on a wing, gripping it almost uncomfortably tight.

That's fine with Castiel. If he can provide some form of comfort, he will. No matter what it costs him.

“Sam, Sam, Sam... why do you play these games? We both know you're mine. This little game you've been playing with Castiel has been amusing, but it's time to put away your toy. You're a smart boy, I'm sure with a little prompting you can figure out a way to free me. And we can cleanse this earth of its impurities. No more suffering. No more pain.”

“Yeah, because everyone will be dead. That’s not salvation. Are you even listening to yourself, let alone me? For the last time - ” Sam steps forward, and power seems to draw around him like a cloak. “I. Said. No!”

Castiel is but an observer here, despite being able to feel how Sam draws his own grace together, weaving it with his soul, like armor. It settles on Sam nicely, to the point Castiel can't tell what was once his.

He supposes that's the point. Later, he knows he'll mourn the loss, but it's worth it if it can save Sam's sanity, and his soul.

Even Lucifer looks scared, walking back as Sam walks forward.

“I will never give in to you. I will never let you roam the Earth, I will never let you have your way. Maybe this place isn't perfect, but it's my home.” Sam laughs, and Lucifer's fading from sight, burning up from the force of his will. “It's filled with the people I love, and you do not belong here. Go back to your cage, and never ever return. Daddy put you in time out, and I think you need to stay there.”

The last is said with a little mocking laugh, followed up by a wave, and Lucifer fully fades.

The scenery changes again, back to Sam's home. The furniture's back where Sam had it originally, and the shelves are overflowing with books. Castiel smiles sadly at him, and shakes his head.

“No, you're not awake yet.”

“I know, I just... I'm not ready to go back.” Sam sits down on the couch, and pats the seat beside him. “Is... he really gone? Was it that easy?”

Castiel settles down next to him. It's odd, how it has no feel, no form, but still acts as a couch should. He brushes his hand over the side, and even though he knows he won't feel the fabric, he still frowns at the lack of sensation.

“You call that easy? Sam, you forced the devil out of your mind with only the force of your will.”

“With a little help from you.” Sam's leaning forward now, love in his eyes.

Castiel has to shake his head. “No, I only provided some power. Most of it came from you.”

It's Sam's turn to shake his head, though he says nothing. Only leans closer and closer, until their lips are touching. They're in Sam's mind, Sam's soul is shining bright, but still Castiel closes his eyes as they kiss.

Only to open them once more. He feels – he feels something he never thought to again. Sam's doing something, and he should tell him to stop, but – the rips and tears in Castiel's grace are being sewn together with bits of Sam's soul.

He feels feathers forming on his wings, and before he realizes what's happening, his eyes close once more with the depths of Sam's love. When he opens them again, he's back in the living room, but the real one.

Sam's collapsed against him, smiling despite his exhaustion. Behind him, Castiel can feel his wings on full display. Healed and whole.

“Sam...” Castiel is at a loss for words. “You didn't have to... you shouldn't have – I...”

“Heh. I wasn't sure that would work, but if we're linked... I figured it shouldn't be just me who benefits from this situation...” With that, Sam's eyes slip shut, and goes limp against Castiel in soul-weary slumber.

“Did it work?!” Dean's at the edge of the circle, and at Castiel's nod, he steps forward, and pulls his brother into his arms. “Uh, Cas, the light show is nice and all but mere mortals here...”

With a nod, Castiel folds his wings back up against his back, and out of this reality. But he can still feel them, and marvels at the sensation. It's been so long. He longs to stretch them, yet knows he'll save that honor for when Sam awakes.

“It worked... Sam's safe, not a sliver of Lucifer should be able to get out again.”

“And if he does, we'll be here to kick his ass!” Charlie makes a pose that Castiel assumes is from some anime, but which one he's not certain. Metatron wasn’t a huge fan of Asian pop culture.

Not that it matters, the world is swirling alarmingly around him. 

“Uh... Cas, you okay? Cas? Cas?!” Dean's voice grows dim, and the world grows dark, and -

Oh. It's been awhile since Castiel has fainted. He does not enjoy the experience.

~

Castiel awakens bit by bit. He knows somewhere, deep within his being, that he should not have passed out at all. But still, he feels the mattress beneath his finger tips, and the weight of several small bodies on his chest. With a brush of grace, he realizes it is the kittens, drawn to his warmth and divine being.

He doesn't need grace to know whose arms are wrapped around him, whose head is nuzzling against his neck.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty...” Sam's voice is heavy with sleep, and he smiles at him when Castiel turns to look. “You had us worried.”

“How... how long has it been?” Castiel can't tell, but he isn't alarmed. He probably should be, but something tells him it won't be a repeat occurrence. “I suppose we were still linked due to the spell, and then further when you gifted me back my wings… the rebound must have taken me out, as well. Sam you shouldn't have done that, but. Thank you.”

Sam's lips are soft against his own, and Castiel sighs happily into the kiss.

“I'd do it again.”

“Yes, I suppose you would. You are such a Winchester.” Castiel pulls away, and ignores the grumbles from the various cats. Looking around the room, he realizes it must be nearly nightfall. “Is everyone else alright?”

“Worried about you. Don't be surprised if Jack comes in soon, or Claire. Even Dean's popped in once or twice. ...Cas? I was wondering... what do you plan to do now?”

“Now? Well... I want to stay here. With you. For as long as you'll have me.”

“Which is forever. I don't know if anyone's told you this, but I'm kind of attached to you, you know?” Sam nuzzles against his hair, and lets out a little laugh. “I can't believe it's over... I'm free.”

“Sam? Can I ask you what **you** plan to do now?”

“Me? Huh. Never thought I'd live this long, and figured I'd die soon enough. But now that being driven crazy by the devil in my head isn't a possibility... I guess I'll keep on doing what I've been doing. Helping out hunters with research, helping out civilians with my novels... just, with you at my side. Right?”

“Of course.” Castiel pauses, and bites his lip in consideration. After a moment of reflection, he speaks once more. “Sam? If I may make a suggestion?”

“Sure Cas, anything.”

“What if we get a dog?”

“A dog, really? You don't think the house is full enough as it is?” Sam snorts, but nods. “Alright, Castiel. We'll get a dog. We certainly have enough fucking cats, a dog might be a nice change of pace.”

Castiel settles his head against Sam's chest and sighs happily. He knows soon enough he'll feel sorrow, he'll mourn what he's lost. But he's gained so much too, in such a short span of time. Perhaps this is what it means to be human.

To weather the unending storm of loss and joy, and find peace where he can, with the people he loves.

Ah, but Castiel has never been a poet. He's an angel, one of a kind at that, but still an angel. One with a family, and Castiel has no idea what the future will hold.

But it's his to find out. For once, he looks forward to it.


	9. Epilogue

Sam wakes to the ringing of the downstairs telephone, but before he can even process his new state of awareness, it's been answered. Jack's soft, if excited tones drift up from the living room turned research library, and Sam's tempted to roll over and go back to sleep.

He no longer fears his dreams. Hasn't for years, either. While he still has nightmares from time to time, and sweet dreams are forever alien too him, sleep is actually restful. And after all, it’s only natural to have nightmares from time to time. What human doesn't?

Still, a quick, fuzzy glimpse at his clock shows it's half past noon. That, combined with the realization of what day it is, has Sam shrugging out of bed to do some quick stretches and brush his teeth. His cellphone rings by the time he spits out his mouthwash, and he manages to not be too disappointed when the caller ID isn't Cas.

It's Magda, and that's just as good. Pressing the answer prompt on screen, he brings it to his ear, and tugs on some clothes as the two of them chat.

“Hey Hon. How's it going? Was that test as bad as you thought?” A cat weaves through his legs, and Sam stumbles, but manages to right himself before he can fall. “Going to be the death of me, I swear.”

“What's that?” Magda's voice is a bit tinny and staticy, but not enough Sam feels like he needs her to call back.

“Oh just the cats. What they think will happen if they succeed in breaking my neck, I don't know. Cas isn't going to feed them if they kill me.”

“Jack will.”

“That's true. So, the test?”

“It went alright.... I think I got at least a C.”

Which means she aced it, knowing Magda. She's really taken after him in the academics department, and Sam couldn't be more proud. He tells her that frequently, despite the embarrassed pleas for him to stop.

They talk for a while longer, and Sam half listens to the drama of Magda's friend group. Something about who's dating who, and who dumped who, and also something about a friend who got ridiculously high. On oregano.

“Really? They didn't check the baggie?”

“Nope!”

The two of them lose themselves in laughter, and soon enough, Sam finds he's lost a good half hour talking to his daughter. He doesn't mind, he never will, but he knows he really should go and see if Jack needs his help downstairs. But first, he has to ask:

“So, has Claire been by recently?”

“She called me last night. She thinks she's taken care of the little ghost problem, but she's double checking before she heads out. I can't wait to see her.”

“Your three year anniversary is coming up, huh? I can't blame you.”

“And what about you, Dad? Is Cas back from hunting with Uncle Dean yet?”

“He's supposed to be in tonight at the latest. I don't really mind, I like Dean having a partner, especially now that the Colonel's gotten so old, but don't tell Dean I said that.”

“Don't mind doesn't mean you don't miss him, huh?” Her tone turns wistful, but she's still his daughter and he's her dad. Adopted or not, there are some things they don't talk about too deeply.

He doesn't want to know the intimate details of her relationship with Claire, and he's sure she doesn't want to know the intimate details of his and Castiel's. Much as they both wish the other happiness.

They talk a little longer, but soon enough he's wishing her a good day. “And don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Like that list is long.” With a laugh, Magda hangs up.

Sam shakes his head down at his cell, before pocketing it and heading down the stairs. Belle and Crow intertwine through his legs, and for a moment Sam finds himself missing Elijah. The cat could be gruff, but at least he let Sam walk.

But Elijah's just fine, off to college with Magda. Even though Sam imagines he'd prefer to be an only cat in her little apartment, without Tailchaser and Killer for company.

Castiel never did get Claire to change the calico's name. Or to rethink becoming a hunter, but she checks in frequently. She also more or less lives with Magda in between hunting.

Magda will graduate next year, and he has no idea what the future will hold for them both. Especially since... Well. Sam doesn't feel like thinking about that just yet.

He makes it down the stairs without breaking his neck, and the cats scamper off to find windows to observe the world from. Sam smiles at Jack, but doesn't interrupt him, and finds a couch to sit down at while he listens to Jack finish up the call.

“Mmmm are you sure, Mrs Harvelle? Because that doesn't sound like a Rugaru... No Ma'am, I'm not doubting you, I'm just making sure I have all the information correct! I promise, I'll look into this, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I think Charlie is near your area, I could call her in if you need help? No, Ma'am. No, Ma'am. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yes Ma'am.” Jack's returning smile is a little strained, and Sam doesn't point out how a book flies towards him when he opens his hand. He doubts Jack has even noticed.

Little things like that have been happening lately. Jack levitating his pencil in a bit of boredom, an open door closing from across the room, research material appearing when Jack needs it. Nothing big, and nothing Jack can reliably call on, but he's been getting stronger by the day.

Jack hasn't called attention to it, and neither has Sam. When Jack's ready to talk, he'll be there.

No sooner has Sam sat down than Daisy, the little beagle Cas picked out from a farmers market litter, pads out from under the kitchen table to rest her head in his lap. He runs his fingers over her short fur, ignoring the glares of Jack's two tabbies from their perch on either side of the research table.

He'd think they'd known she's staying, it's been two years. But cats will be cats, he supposes. As much as Sam loves his family, he never wants to have seven cats again. The four that remain are more than enough.

Especially when adding Daisy to the mix, who is currently ignoring the poorly imposed rule of no dogs on the furniture to wiggle her way into Sam's lap. He shouldn't encourage her, but Sam finds himself rubbing her belly instead of telling her to get down.

She's been clingy since Cas went on a hunting trip with Dean. He knows the feeling.

“Ellen bossy as always?” Sam asks when Jack's finally able to put down the phone.

“Mrs Harvelle is... certainly forceful.” Jack offers up a tired grin, before laying his head down on his research. A cat, he's not sure if it's Jedi or Solo, nuzzles up to him, offering comfort. The other washes a paw for a moment before joining in, and Jack practically disappears under purring cats.

“Sorry for leaving you to her mercies.” Sometimes Sam wonders why Jack chose to stay behind with him, instead of becoming a hunter like Claire, or going into academia like Magda. But he'll never ask.

Much as Sam might bitch and moan, he enjoys the company. It occurs to him then that he's turning into Bobby. A fitter, gayer, less bearded Bobby, but still.

“It's alright.” Jack waves one hand in the air, the other stroking a cat, before that hand is claimed by a feline as well. He remains facedown in his research, voice slightly muffled. “I like to help.”

“Still, take a break now and again, alright?”

Jack finally lifts his head enough to offer Sam a tired smile. Sam smiles back, shaking his head as he goes into the kitchen to get them both some water. When he returns, he sets one glass down by Jack, and lifts the other to his lips.

All in all, they have a quiet afternoon. If one ignores the undercurrent of excitement. By dinnertime, there's been no word from either Cas nor Dean, and Sam tries not to worry as he sets out two bowls of salad for them. Jack doesn't say anything either as the two of them settle down to watch a movie.

Cas is fine. Dean is fine. Sam just has to repeat that to himself a few times, and he starts to believe it. They're probably out of cell range, or Dean's got it in his head to surprise Sam or something. Castiel is a celestial being, and Dean's no slouch as a hunter.

Sam's subconscious mind points out that if Castiel really wanted to, he could fly to them right now, but he quashes the thought before it can gain hold. Dean likes to drive, and he likes annoying Cas. That's all it is.

Despite doing his best to reassure himself everything is fine, Sam has a hard time focusing on the movie. Halfway through, Jack pauses it, and glances towards him, head cocked to the side. Sam can tell he's about to ask if he's alright, and he's got a lie forming on his tongue when Daisy comes running down the stairs, baying out her heart as she races towards the door.

Soon enough, two deeper barks join in with her high pitched sing song, and Sam's fears ease into relief as he stands up and heads to the door himself. Of course, he has to deal with Daisy hopping excitedly all around it, tail going a mile a minute as the click clack of her nails against the floor mixes with the various howls.

It's times like this Sam dubs her as 'Cas's dog' more than his, but he still reaches down to rub at her ears as he swings open the door. Daisy takes off like a shot, and it's harder to tell who's happier to see who as the three dogs tussle and yip.

But Sam's not focused on them anymore. He's too busy tugging a certain trench coat clad angel into his arms, hands roaming up and down his person as he checks for injuries. Castiel laughs in Sam's ear, but allows him this.

“You do know I can heal myself?” Cas's head is a comforting weight against Sam's chest.

“Mmm. I'm always gonna worry, Cas.” And Sam wouldn't put it past Cas to hide a hurt. It's a tendency that they share, much to everyone's annoyance.

“Eeesh, I don't know whether to gag from the mush, or be jealous you're never that happy to see me.” Dean's voice breaks them up, and when Sam glances over, he sees his brother shaking his head and rolling his one good eye. But Dean's not quick enough to hide his smile, and Sam manages to catch it before Dean can turn his head.

“Hey Dean. Good hunt?”

“So so. Got slashed across the ribs pretty bad, but Cas healed me up. Col almost lost an eye, so we're staying here a few days to rest up.”

“You know you're always welcome-” Sam has a feeling that sooner rather than later, The Colonel is going to be spending his twilight years sleeping under Sam's table when he's not out terrorizing the local squirrels.

But Dean's going to have to be the one to bring it up. Sam won’t press. He hopes the two ‘hunting partners’ can remain so a little longer.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Alright, I'm tired, and I need a shower, then I'm gonna go out and see what this place has to offer for grub.”

Sam rolls his eyes this time, knowing that Dean's trying to bait him into an argument. Like they don't both know Dean's as familiar with Blue Earth as Sam is by now. He almost doesn't bite, until he hears Cas and Jack talking quietly behind him.

So Sam follows his brother inside, and teases him all the way to the bathroom. The two of them bicker back and forth good naturedly as the water runs. Followed by Dean bitching about Sam's choice of shampoo, conditioner, body lotion, even razors.

“Seriously, Dean? You don't have your own? Gross.”

“Why buy my own when I can just mooch your expensive shit?”

“Because hygiene, Dean. You do know the amount of germs on-”

“Listen to you, 'you do know the amount of germs' blah blah blah.” Dean opens the door, and steps out, ruffling a towel over his wet hair. He tosses it to the side, and spikes up his hair with his fingers, ignoring Sam's disgusted grunt at the lack of care.

“Dean, you have to hang up towels or they get mildew.”

“So be a good host and hang it up for me, I'm a guest.” Dean waggles his eyebrows as he heads back towards the door, and hooks his arms around Jack's shoulder. Jack looks bewildered for half of a second, until Dean grins at him. “So, kiddo, what's say you and me go out for a night of wings and beer?”

“I've already eaten – Oh.” Jack seems to get it then, and nods. “Yes, that sounds like a good time. Goodnight, Castiel, Sam.” Jack manages to grab his coat as Dean drags him along, but only just. He waves as the door shuts, stepping aside to let the dogs in.

A slam of car doors, a curse from Dean, and the rumble of the Impala on Sam's gravel road signifies their departure. The cats begin to peak out from under the furniture, while the dogs are still playing, just in the house now.

Sam looks at Cas. Cas looks at Sam. As one, they burst out laughing.

“That wasn't subtle at all.”

“No,” Cas shakes his head, and reaches up to rub at his eyes. “Subtlety has never been Dean's strong suit.”

“I guess it was sweet of him and all, but... I'd rather just hold you tonight, and hear how things went.” Sam places his hand on the small of Castiel's back, and guides him up the stairs. Cas goes willingly, turning back to smile at him.

Soon enough he's in what he's come to think of as **their** room, not just his. For the most part, it's Sam's things that decorate the walls, and Sam's clothes in the closet, but Castiel has added a few things here and there.

Mostly a tv up against one wall, connected to netflix and other streaming surfaces, but still. It's something. Sam wonders idly, as he takes Castiel's coat off one sleeve at a time, if he should be worried about the sheer amount of shows Cas watches.

But then again, Sam likes cuddling up to him as he does, so it's not like he doesn't benefit from this situation.

Sam lays the familiar coat on the dresser, and Cas's suit jacket and tie join it soon enough. He leaves the button up on for now, after all he did say he wasn't up for sex tonight, and he meant it. Still, even though Cas has long assured him he doesn't feel heat like humans do, Sam wants him to be comfortable.

That, and it's not that fun to spoon a trench coat.

His arms wrap around Cas, and the two of them fall into bed. Sam sighs happily against Cas's hair, his eyes drifting closed. “So. How bad was it, really?”

There's a soft thump against the bed, and from the way it wobbles to and fro, Sam figures Daisy's hopped up, and not one of the cats. He's a little annoyed that Cas pulls away from him to greet her, but lets it slide.

“The injuries were worse than Dean described, but he is fine. I do think I'm going to sit the next few hunts out however. I've missed you all.” A beat, then Cas continues on, fondly exasperated. “Yes Daisy, I am including you in that statement. You are part of the family, you have to know that.”

“Mmmmm I’m gonna say she's your dog more than mine.”

“Oh, hush. You love her too.”

Sam only laughs, and leans forward to kiss his lover. The two of them lose themselves in making out for sometime, though it doesn't get too heated. It's not about getting off, not about showing their love through the carnal pleasure, as Cas would – and has, said.

It's about reconnecting. They only stop when Daisy whines, tired of being left out. Sam's of a mind to kick her out of the bedroom, but soon enough Belle, Crow, and even Jack's two tabbies; Jedi and Solor are joining in and demanding Cas's attention.

With a roll of his eyes, and a quick mutter about being chopped liver, Sam pulls away and lays back against the bed. He watches as Cas quietly talks to them, hands finding two at a time to pet before moving on to a different two.

He's not actually jealous. Their family is odd, and eclectic, but it's theirs.

“You know... Jack moved things without realizing it ten times while you were gone. Most recently, a book.”

“Is that right?” Cas doesn't look up at him, his gaze resting on Crow, who has managed to get both of Cas’s hands on him somehow and is greatly enjoying the attention. If the growing puddle of drool is any indication.

“Mmm. You know, sooner or later we're going to have to make a choice.”

“I know... but it's going to take all of us. When are Magda and Claire coming home?”

“Semester doesn't end for another month, Cas, you know that... and... if everyone doesn't agree, I...”

“Whatever decision we make – to stay here, or go to my home dimension...” Castiel pauses, voice catching. “We'll make it as a family. I couldn't – I won't leave anyone behind. Either we all go, or we all stay.”

“And that's okay with you?”

“Sam. I'm an angel. I've lived a very, very long time. I'll always love my home, and the family I've left behind... but if Claire, Jack, Magda, and Dean don't want to leave here... and I couldn't blame them... I'll stay.” Castiel smiles down at Crow when he lets out a trill. “And of course, the Winchester zoo.”

“Yeah, you can call it that, but you're the one who insisted on adding to it. Twice. The kittens were your idea, and you picked Daisy out.”

“It's a fitting name.”

“Cas...” Sam sits up, and reaches out to lay his hand on his lovers shoulder. Squeezing tight, he manages to catch Castiel's eyes. “Are you sure about that? You'll be happy no matter what we choose?”

“I will be. I have family here, and I have family there.”

“Don't look so sad. I think there's a chance everyone will want to go, though we'll have a hell of a time convincing Max and Alicia to go along.”

“Why would – oh, yes, of course. Charlie is part of the family as well, and she is dating Alicia, is she not? How's that working out?”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “Very well, despite Maxes bitching.”

He has to wonder if it's really alright if they all leave. Wouldn't they be leaving this universe unprotected if so? But as he watches Castiel, the man, no, the angel he loves, Sam thinks that maybe... maybe it doesn't matter.

There's more than their little clan protecting the world. An entire network of hunters, and sure, they'll miss them, but Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Rufus, Garth.... they can handle themselves. And despite what Castiel says, he knows the angel gets a far away look in his eyes at times.

So when summer comes, and they're all in the same house again, Sam knows which way he'll cast his vote. But until then?

Sam has an angel to kiss. So kiss Castiel he does, over and over, enjoying the happy sighs he receives in return.

As for the muffled groans from Daisy, and the annoyed little huffs and hisses from the cats? Sam enjoys those too, if only because it's a reminder of how loved Castiel is.

They all are. Castiel can tease all he likes, but Sam knows the angel wouldn't have it any other way. Neither would Sam.

It's not perfect, and no matter what decision their family comes to, there's going to be a degree of loss. But Sam finds himself looking forward to the future. Despite the years he lost to pain, to the Devil, he's always been adaptable.

It's time to see what life holds in store for them all. Whether that's Sam and Jack helping hunters from afar while the rest of the family is in the field, or exploring a brave new world. Either way, it'll be an adventure.

One Sam can't wait to go on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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